


What A Tangled Web

by Somniare



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Between series 6 and 7, Bromance, Canon Divergence, Family, Family Secrets, First Kiss, M/M, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somniare/pseuds/Somniare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a secret from Val’s past is revealed, Robbie’s world is turned upside down.</p><p>
  <i>The way Val talked, I always thought I was her first, her only boyfriend.  Her one true love, you know?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Original Cover Art by [nickygabriel](http://nickygabriel.livejournal.com/746947.html)
> 
> A warning for references to physical and mental abuse of a minor. 
> 
> With thanks to tetsubinatu for an intriguing prompt.
> 
> To my Tweeps who encouraged and supported me, thank you, also. 
> 
> Heartfelt thanks and deepest gratitude go to my beta, wendymr. Without her support, encouragement, questions, prodding of my lazy muse, and willingness to take on the beta when the story was less than half complete, this would not have been finished in time, let alone scrubbed and polished.
> 
> All remaining errors, goofs and typos are mine.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own anything (apart from Mr Harris). Just playing; promise to put them back safely.
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

James’s head jerked around when Lewis swore softly but violently at his desk.  James knew he was no saint but, even at his angriest, ‘fuck’ was a word that rarely crossed Robbie Lewis’s lips.  James turned back to his computer but continued to watch his governor out of the corner of his eye as he read and re-read a single sheet of paper.  It had been delivered by one of the new constables, who advised that it had been dropped at the front desk “by a man in his late thirties, maybe early forties, around five foot ten, with an Australian accent.  No sir, sorry, sir, didn’t get a name.”  
  
James briefly wondered if it was in some way connected to any of their past cases, but the expression on Lewis’s face belied that; he looked horror-struck.  James felt himself inexplicably growing anxious.  Anything that caused that level of distress in Lewis couldn’t bode well.   He checked the time – it was barely noon – and made a decision.  He approached Lewis’s desk cautiously, stopping on the spot when Lewis looked up at him.   
  
“Pint?” James asked softly.  
  
Lewis folded the letter and, after returning it to its envelope, shoved it into his shirt pocket.  He stood, shrugged on his jacket, and leant heavily on his desk.  James reached over his own desk and pulled his jacket from the back of the chair.  Lewis straightened and walked purposefully out the door without a backward glance.  James jogged out behind him, pulling on his jacket as he went.   
  
He pushed through the doors and immediately regretted not grabbing his coat as well, as the wind cut through the thin fabric of his shirt.  Lewis was already striding up the road.  Keeping his rising apprehension at bay, James quickly caught up and fell into step beside him.   
  
Lewis headed straight for an empty table in the corner while James got their pints and ordered sandwiches for both of them; he didn’t have to ask Lewis what he wanted or even if he wanted anything – he knew him too well.  James remained uneasy as Lewis swallowed down half his pint in one long mouthful, but he said nothing; he breathed a sigh of relief when Lewis nursed the rest of his pint in silence and stared out the window.  Their food arrived; after thanking James, Lewis ate without another word.  James got in a second round, moving his chair closer to Lewis’s before he sat back down.  Lewis raised the glass to his lips, openly studying James over the rim; James felt as though he was being dissected.  Lowering his glass, Lewis nodded, as though he had made a decision.  He took the folded letter from his pocket and considered it for a moment, before handing it to James.  
  
James took a corner of the envelope between his forefinger and thumb and waited for Lewis to relinquish his grip rather than pulling it from his fingers.  
  
Lewis turned his chair away from James and returned his gaze to the trees beyond the window.  
  
James examined the envelope, which was handwritten.  It had simply been addressed to “Inspector Robert Lewis, c/o Oxfordshire Police”, and there was no return address.  It was common enough stationery – he had the same envelopes at home – and it looked like copier paper.  There was no preamble to the handwritten letter, and James read in shocked silence.  
  
 _“Inspector Lewis_  
  
 _My name is Carl Harris.  I am the child who was born to Valerie Venables in July 1974._  
  
 _I have lived in Australia since I was six, when my adoptive parents emigrated.  My mum passed away several months ago and my dad died in 2003.  While sorting through my mum’s papers I found several items which belonged to Valerie.  I had intended to return them to her, but I also found a newspaper clipping about her death.  I was hoping to return these items to her family instead but have had difficulty contacting them.  My birth father suggested I contact you._  
  
 _I won’t make any further attempts to contact you beyond this letter.  I don’t wish to cause any grief but appreciate this letter may stir up memories._  
  
 _Kind regards”_  
  
The letter then went on to state he was in Oxford for less than a week and listed a phone number where he could be contacted.  James recognised the number, and was fairly confident he knew which hotel it belonged to.  
  
With the letter was a slightly faded photograph of a young boy, perhaps around ten years old.  James frowned as he studied the image; he’d seen that boy before but couldn’t place the face.   
  
“That photo – that could be our Mark.”  Lewis’s quiet voice cut through James’s thoughts.  “But it’s not.  I’m certain of it.”  
  
James called on everything he knew about Lewis to try to read him.  In the set of his eyes, James saw grief, but the twitch around the mouth spoke of anger, and James could see he was holding his glass tightly to stop his hand shaking.  
  
He carefully returned the letter and photograph to the envelope, treating them both as if they were brittle manuscripts, and placed the envelope in the centre of the table.  As Lewis reached out for it, James grasped his hand and squeezed tightly, just once.   
  
"If I can do anything, you only have to ask."  
  
Lewis folded the envelope back into his pocket before meeting James’s eyes.  “Come back to mine tonight?  This has...  I don’t know what to think... but... I need to try and begin to sort it in me head.  If I try to do that on me own...”  He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.  “I need someone I trust, someone who’ll let me rabbit on, but stop me if I’m talking rot.”  
  
“Should I bring takeaway or beer?” James offered.  
  
Lewis was staring off into the distance again.  "All the years we were together... Val never said a word."  
  
“Both, then,” James mumbled to himself.

 

***

 

They reluctantly walked back to the station.  James knew Lewis had wanted to go home, but he had to get through a meeting with Innocent at three.  Heavy steel-grey clouds were slowly but steadily rolling in, and James tried to remember if storms had been forecast; he wished he’d paid more attention.  An icy wind whipped around, and James nudged Lewis to walk a little faster.  
  
This morning he’d been grateful for the quiet day to review a complex case for the CPS, while Lewis had been determined to complete writing up the last of the performance reviews.  Now, however...  James knew it was foolish, not to mention callous, to hope for a murder to get them out of the office; he’d settle for a car theft – anything that would distract from that damned letter.  
  
James spent the next hour attempting to absorb the information in the file, while keeping one eye on Lewis.  Lewis stared at his monitor, fingers resting on the keyboard, but his eyes were distant.  Every now and again, he’d give himself a small shake and pick out a few words, but as soon as he lifted his eyes from the keys to the screen, he would drift away again.  However, he was clearly more aware of what was going on that James had given him credit for, for at exactly five minutes before three, he rose quietly from his desk, muttered ‘Innocent’, and plodded slowly down the corridor towards the stairs.  
  
James forced himself to focus on the case file.  
  
Lewis wandered back in just over an hour later, as expected, and lowered himself slowly into his chair.  Before James could say anything, Innocent was hovering in the doorway, staring at him with a puzzled frown.  She jerked her head slightly towards Lewis and shrugged a query.  James pressed his lips together and gave a small shake of his head.  He hoped his face conveyed the ‘please don’t ask me’ he couldn’t say out loud.  Innocent’s sharp scowl in response meant one thing only as far as James was concerned: ‘Get it sorted, Hathaway’.  
  
Lewis packed up to leave shortly after.  James promised to be at his flat no later than six; he had to finish the case review.  
  
“Promise me you’ll be stone-cold sober when I get there.”  
  
“James, I...”  
  
“Promise me, please.”  
  
Lewis grudgingly promised.

 


	2. Monday night

 

James arrived at a quarter to six with four bottles of Abingdon Bridge, and fish and chips. None of their usual takeaway places had appealed, and if Lewis decided he wasn’t hungry Monty wouldn’t let good fish go to waste.  He tried not to show his relief when Lewis opened the door promptly.  He had changed his clothes and obviously showered and shaved; his hair was still damp and his face pink.  His eyes were still heavy, and his greeting smile didn’t quite reach them.  He stepped back to let James in.  
  
“You look frazzled, lad.  I know it was a convoluted case you had to review...”  His genuine concern rang clear in his voice.  
  
“I’m... fine – there were a lot of threads, but they came together easily enough.  It was solid, accurate, grounded policing; I don’t know what CPS’s problem with it was.”  He looked closely at Lewis.  “Of course, I haven’t had the benefit of freshening up for the evening,” he said with small smile.  
  
“You’re always welcome to use the bathroom – not that I think I’ve got any clothes that’d fit you.”  
  
James put the bags on the worktop and pulled two plates and cutlery from the drying rack as Lewis took down two glasses.  
  
“We should fix that, you know,” Lewis mused.  James paused unwrapping the first bundle and looked at him.  Lewis was staring at the glasses in his hand.  James gently prompted him.  
  
“Fix what?”  
  
Lewis gave himself a small shake, as though remembering James was there.  James was concerned; it wasn’t like him to let his mind drift like that.  
  
“The amount of times you come back here of an evening, you should be able to have a shower an’ change before we keep on working.  If you like, I’ll make some room and you can keep some clothes here, just in case.”  
  
James resumed plating up their dinner.  “Erm, thank you, sir.  I will.  That would be... that’s very kind of you.”  James wondered if the letter had in some way set Lewis’s thinking off in this direction.  
  
“Should have done it months ago, James, an’ saved you all those rushed trips home of a morning instead of getting ready at a decent pace.”  
  
James wasn’t sure what to say; instead he handed a filled plate and opened bottle to Lewis, picked up his own and followed Lewis through to the living area.  
  
“Hang on a minute.  The couch is blue; when did the couch turn blue?”  
  
“It’s the new one I ordered.  Bloody thing finally turned up on Saturday.  I was beginning to think they’d lost it.”  
  
“When did you order a new couch?”  While Lewis was sitting at the table, James had frozen in place next to the worktop, frowning at the royal blue couch.  “You never said you were getting a new one.”  
  
“James, sit down, will ya.”  Lewis was half-scowling at him.  “It’s just a couch; after six years I felt like a change.”  
  
James sat down.  “What happened to the old one?”  
  
“Emmaus took it. Okay?”  
  
“Oh.  Well.  That’s okay, then.”  
  
“If I’d known you liked it that much I would have offered it to you first.  You were the one who complained it wrecked your back the last time you slept on it.”  
  
“Ah, right.  I did.”  James felt the heat flare in his cheeks.  _Idiot, James.  It’s just a bloody couch._

 

***

 

With Monty well fed and curled up on the armchair, and their few dishes soaking in the sink, Lewis and James settled down on the couch.  
  
James bounced experimentally.  “It’s, ah... firm,” he offered.  Lewis rolled his eyes.  They sat quietly and James started to wonder if he should raise the letter – it was, after all, the reason he was here this night – but so far Lewis had carefully avoided mentioning anything closely related to it.  He hadn’t even mentioned his grandson over dinner; that in itself was a noteworthy occurrence.  Lewis adored young Thom, and took pleasure in telling James the latest news from Lyn, but tonight... not a word.  
  
James settled himself in for a longer wait when Lewis started a DVD and put his feet up on the coffee table.

 

***

 

James stretched forward to put his beer on the table.  Lewis stretched out his legs and tilted his head backwards.  He started to talk and James stilled.  
  
"I met Val in 1977; I was 21, she was 19.  Bit over a year later we were married an’ our Lyn was on the way.  We were at the same concert.”  _Midnight Addiction_ , James remembered.  “Maybe it is a cliché, but it _was_ love at first sight.  For me anyway,” he added softly, his brow furrowed.  “You know, my mam always thought it was odd that Val's family had moved to Newcastle at that time; with the collieries starting to close down in greater numbers, jobs of any kind were harder to get.  I remember one night after Val's folks had been over for dinner, I heard her telling me dad that she wouldn't be surprised if there wasn’t ‘a tale to be told there’.  But nothing was ever said directly to me, an’ I never heard her ever consider that there might be a bairn involved, not even in her wildest speculations to me dad."  His voice cracked.  
  
James stayed silent.  
  
Lewis pulled the envelope out of his shirt pocket.  “I don’t understand this – it’s got to be a wind-up of some sort, someone’s idea of a sick joke.  But there’s that blasted photograph.”  James shifted, turning his body slightly towards Lewis, and studied his face as he stared at the envelope.  He wasn’t used to seeing such doubt on his governor’s face.  
  
“You’re certain it’s not Mark?  Absolutely, undeniably certain?”  
  
Lewis removed the photograph and studied it carefully.  He turned the image this way and that, his brow creased in concentration.  James remembered he’d seen a magnifying glass in one of the kitchen drawers, but before he could move Lewis was already on his feet.  James fidgeted in his seat as Lewis examined the magnified picture under the brighter kitchen light.   
  
“No.”  Lewis sighed heavily and walked back to James.  “I don’t remember our Mark’s hair ever being that light, but even if it’s just the angle, Mark was never in Australia as a child.”  He showed James a feature in the background.  “That’s _not_ Tyne Bridge.”  Just in time, James realised that pointing out that it could be Hell Gate Bridge in New York wasn’t going to be helpful.   
  
For a brief moment, James thought Lewis was going to screw up both the letter and picture, and didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated when he didn’t.  The former trainee priest that still lurked inside James thought of many things to say, but he was there to listen and listen he would... unless he thought his friend was in danger of causing himself more grief than he’d already experienced.   
  
When Lewis next turned his face to James, it wore a mixture of puzzlement and sorrow.  
  
“Val never once mentioned any boyfriends she’d had before we met, not a hint.  And I never heard her sister or her mam say anything either.  Especially not her mam.  She always let me know in her own way that she thought I wasn’t quite good enough for ‘her Valerie’, but she never once said anything like, ‘I don’t know why she stopped seeing so-and-so’.  The way she talked – the way Val talked – I always thought I was her first, her only boyfriend.  Her one true love, you know?”   
  
The look of loss on Lewis’s face stabbed at James’s heart, and it took all his self-control not to sweep him into a hug at that point.  It wasn’t the first time James had had the urge to physically comfort Lewis, but he’d never had the nerve to follow through on the thought; tonight was no different.  Besides, he knew Lewis wasn’t finished, and he had to let him finish.   
  
“She wouldn’t... she was so... reserved; we didn’t... you know... until our wedding night.  But this.”  He slapped the envelope on the table, the uncharacteristic violence of his action causing James to jerk backwards.  “It makes a damn mockery of all of that,” Lewis growled angrily.  
  
“You shouldn’t speculate until you have all the facts – or at least some more information.  What about Mrs Venables?”  James discarded the possibility of that discussion at the look of scepticism on Robbie’s face.  
  
“Did you not hear what I said?   She never thought I was good enough.  I doubt she’d admit to me if her precious daughter had had a child.  July 1974, James: if this is genuine, Val was barely sixteen.  She would have been under the age of consent when she fell pregnant.  No way in the world would her mother admit to _that_.  Self-righteous, holier-than-thou cow.”   
  
James understood that anger was driving Lewis’s words, and that he’d most likely regret much of what he said when he was calmer.  For that reason alone, he said nothing.   
  
“A year, James.  A year from ‘hello’ to ‘I do’.”  Lewis drew his palms roughly down over his face, slumping forward in his chair, elbows on knees, his chin in his hands.  “What if it wasn’t love in the beginning?  What if Val was just a bit interested, but her mam saw marriage to a lowly constable as the best she could expect for her daughter?  What if Val was pushed into accepting me, what if her mam convinced her I was her chance at being respectable?”  His head snapped around towards James.  “It’s the kind of woman she is.  What if telling me I wasn’t good enough was her way of getting my back up so I’d fight for Val – because that’s what it made me do.  I did everything I could to prove Val wouldn’t have made a mistake if she married me.”  His eyes drifted away to one side and he sighed heavily.  “What if Val settled for me?”  
  
James took a deep breath.  “Sir, you don't talk about Mrs Lewis very often..."  
  
"Call her Val, James; I think you've earned that right.  And while I think about it, can you maybe try to call me Robbie when we're off-duty."  He smiled kindly, though James could see still see the sorrow in his eyes.  
  
James smiled and nodded in response.  "You don't talk about Val very often... Robbie, but from what you have said, and from what I can see in the photos you have, you loved each other very much.  I’ve no real experience of my own to draw on, and my parents’ marriage, well...  but... if she didn’t really love you, I think you would have known, if not immediately, then definitely after twenty years.”  James placed his hand on Robbie’s shoulder and squeezed.  “Your marriage survived a stint in Vice – there’s a good reason why they prefer unattached officers in there – moving halfway across the country with a young family to a city _you_ didn’t know, Chief Inspector Morse – in fact, nearly your entire career as a police officer.  I doubt very much she ‘settled’ for you, and if she was pushed, she probably didn’t need to be pushed very hard.”  
  
Robbie stared at him.  James saw a brief flicker of hope, then it was gone.  
  
"Then why didn't she tell me?  This was Newcastle in the Seventies, lasses who'd given up bairns weren't exactly a rarity, nor were unmarried mums.  Me cousin was one; she was always around our place with young Keith.  Oh, God."  Robbie sat up with a jolt, his face pale.  "Val and Susanna used to sit in the garden and talk for hours.  D'you think Susanna might have known, that she and Val might have bonded because...?"  He looked at James, uncertainty, wonder and disbelief warring for a place in his eyes, on his face.  
  
James’s hand slid down and gently grasped Robbie’s arm.   “Perhaps you should talk to her,” James quietly suggested.  “See if she can shed any light on Harris’s claim.  However, I wouldn’t suggest tonight.”  
  
Robbie glanced at his watch.  “Oh, I’m sorry, lad, didn’t realise it was that late – I should’ve let you get home hours ago.”  He moved to stand, only to be stopped by James’s grip on his arm.  
  
“I said if there was anything I could do, you only had to ask.  And I meant _anything_ ; even if that included sitting here until dawn ‘til you were ready to speak.”  James was fairly confident Robbie knew he was fully behind him but wanted to be sure.  Laura had once scolded him for expecting Robbie to be a mind reader.  _“You boys are all the same; I’ve told him, and I’ll tell you,”_ she’d lectured.  _“You have to tell people how you feel about them.”_  
  
“Still,” Robbie murmured, looking sheepish   “We’ve both got work in the morning, and all things considered it’s been a bloody long day.  You get on home, and I’ll see you at nine.  I’ll talk to Innocent if anyone says anything.”  He cut off the beginning of James’s protest.  “Coming in later than usual every once in a while isn’t going to hurt anyone – it’s not as though we’re swamped at the moment.”  
  
They rose off the couch together.  Robbie gathered up the empty bottles and glasses as James shrugged into his coat.  They froze at the rolling boom of thunder overhead which rattled the glasses on the drying rack, and their heads swivelled towards the windows as hail clattered hard against the glass.  James had just turned to look at Robbie when there was a sharp ‘crack’, and the lights went out.  
  
James stood in absolute darkness; even the street lights were out.  He could hear Robbie moving cautiously, then the scrape of a drawer.  James was blinded by the torch beam.  
  
“Oops, sorry.”  The light dropped to his chest, and once he blinked the white spots away he could see Robbie moving towards him.  
  
“Best take your coat off; you’re not going out in that,” Robbie said sternly.  
  
James shrugged.  “It’ll probably pass soon enough.  I’ll make a dash for the car when...”  
  
“You’re not going out in that; that’s an order, James.”  Another glass-shaking crack of thunder was accompanied by lightning, and the hail slammed harder against the glass.  “You’ll stay here.  You know it’s easy enough to make up a bed on the couch.”  
  
James eyed the new couch warily.  "Thanks for the offer, but it’s not..."  
  
"You're staying.”  James took an involuntary step back at the force in his voice.  “I’m not having it on my conscience if anything happened to you."  As if to reinforce his words, the wail of multiple sirens pierced the noise of the storm.  
  
James felt along the wall carefully, and hung his coat back on its hook.  
  
  
  
After locating a second torch, Robbie helped James make up the couch, and took himself to bed.  He heard James moving in and out of the bathroom, easily locating the spare toothbrush Robbie kept for him.  The storm hadn’t passed, as James had hoped, and the wind had started to howl as heavy, fat rain pelted the windows in place of the hail.  Robbie slipped under the covers and hoped James would be warm enough.  He was sleeping in his singlet and boxers as usual, and Robbie made a note to remind James in the morning to bring some clothes over; the lad had a right to at least be comfortably dressed when he was doing his old governor a kindness.  
  
Through the sound of the storm, odd noises from the living area drew his attention.  An assortment of creaks, dull thumps and groans were punctuated with Monty’s curious meows.  Robbie held his breath as he listened: was Monty chasing a spider?  _James won’t be impressed with that lot._  
  
Robbie quietly made his way down the hall, looking for Monty; he was surprised to see him perched on the back of couch, his head tipping from side to side, presumably as he watched James.  The noises started again, and Robbie realised it was James moving about on the couch and punching the cushion.  He watched as Monty reached out with a paw and, despite the heaviness he still felt, he failed to stifle a laugh when James's hand swatted back.  James’s head popped up, his hair ridiculously ruffled from his tossing and turning.  
  
“What's wrong, man?  Can you not sleep?” Robbie asked quietly.   
  
James sat up with a groan.  “Sorry.  Didn’t mean to disturb you.”  He wriggled around.  “This couch needs to be softened up a bit, I think.”  
  
Robbie studied him for a moment. “C'mon.”  He rocked his head to one side, indicating the hallway.  “Me bed's big enough that we wouldn't be sleeping on top of each other.  You’re not going to get any rest there.”  
  
James hesitated, and Robbie gave an exasperated humpf.  
  
"You're quite safe with me – I generally prefer brunettes.”  James gave a small embarrassed snort, and followed Robbie towards the bedroom.  
  
Monty darted ahead, leaping lightly onto the bed and curling up between the pillows.  
  
Robbie pointed towards the window.  “You take that side.”  
  


  
Though James was still clearly a little self-conscious – Robbie doubted he usually slept _that_ close to the edge of the bed – his breathing rapidly fell into the rhythm of a deep sleep. Robbie lay on his side watching the steady rise and fall of James’s chest, grateful for his presence here – and not just in his flat.  He thought of the bottle of whisky at the back of the cupboard, the one he’d hidden so he could keep his promise to James.  Tomorrow, he should give it to James to keep at his flat.  If the temptation wasn’t there...


	3. Tuesday

 

Robbie woke with a heavy weight across his side.  He assumed it was Monty trying to get his attention again, until a familiar tickling against his forehead caused his eyes to snap open, only to see the bulk of the cat perched between him and the edge of the bed.  _James_ , Robbie remembered.  He blew hard into Monty’s face and he dropped to the floor with a disgruntled mew.  Robbie rolled carefully onto his back and James’s arm flopped against his belly. James had rolled towards him during the night and was now almost face-down against the mattress, the pillow having disappeared.   
  
Robbie lay still, listening to the dying storm; the wind came in gusts and rattled the window, and the rain seemed to have ceased – for now, he supposed.  There was still another hour until Robbie’s alarm was due to go off, but he knew he couldn’t lie there and wait for it.  His back would never forgive him, for one thing, and then there was the insistent call of both cat and bladder. Robbie started to slide out of bed.  
  
James’s fingers grasped at his pyjama jacket.  
   
“Oi, you!” Robbie murmured, and started to uncurl James’s fist.  
  
James woke with a start and a snuffle.  He blinked and smiled groggily at Robbie. 

 _Christ, he looks about eighteen!_ thought Robbie, who raised his eyebrows, glanced at James’s arm and back at James.  James followed the path of his eyes a moment later, jerked his arm away and clumsily sat up in a tangle of limbs; he bit his bottom lip and mumbled an apology.  
  
Robbie snorted softly and shook his head slowly.  _I couldn’t ask for a better mate,_ he thought, _and he belongs here._  
  
“What?” James asked, the beginning of a frown pulling his eyebrows together.  
  
Robbie shook his head again, and swatted James across the arm with a pillow.  “Paper, scissors, stone – winner gets the bathroom first.”

 

***

 

Thankfully, the power had been restored at some point during the night, and Robbie insisted on James staying for breakfast.  It was bad enough that he was going to have to drive across town to his flat to shower and dress, and then retrace his journey back to the station; at least he could do it on a full stomach.  
  
“Thanks for last night, James.  It did help; even if nothing’s clearer, at least now I’ve got a better idea how to go forward.  I haven’t spoken to Susanna in years, but I think me brother still hears from her from time to time; I’ll see if he’s got a phone number or address or something.”  
  
“What about Harris?”  James spoke carefully.  “These items he claims to have?”  
  
Robbie was pensive.  "If I decide to go and see him, will you come with me?"  James nodded immediately, his smile reassuring.

 

***

 

Lewis had been distracted all day, leaving James to run interference.  Amongst other near-misses, he’d twice stopped Lewis adding instant coffee to his tea instead of sugar, but all James’s efforts were for naught after Innocent dropped by their office.  
  
“Lewis, can I have a word?”  She stood in front of his desk as he stared blankly at the screen; James ducked his head down as she turned to glance at him.  
  
“Lewis!”  
  
“What, sorry, love?” Lewis’s voice came floating across the office and it took all of James’s self-control not to lower his head onto the desk.  
  
“Hathaway.  With me.”  She stalked out of the office.   An imperious “Now” shot back through the door and Hathaway, gobsmacked, pushed himself to his feet.  
  
“What’s all that about?  What’ve you done this time?”  James blinked at Lewis in disbelief.  Taking a closer look, he was astounded to recognise that Lewis was genuinely confused.  James closed his mouth, shook his head and headed after Innocent.  
  
  
  
After the most uncomfortable fifteen minutes she was sure either of them had experienced in quite some time, Innocent had finally conceded that James was unlikely to give her a reasonable explanation – and that it had been unreasonable and unfair of her to have expected him to.  His loyalty to Lewis could never be called into question.  After giving him her sincerest apology, she dismissed him with a worried frown.  “Whatever it is, James, I don’t like how it’s affecting Inspector Lewis.  You assure me it’s not work-related, and I trust you.  But either he snaps out of it – and quickly – or I’ll be informing him he’s on leave until he does.  Look after him, James,” she added softly.

 

***

 

Lewis covered his mouth with his hands and closed his eyes.  “God, James, I’m sorry.  I never meant for...”  
  
“I know.”  
  
James had all but dragged Lewis down to the closest park, stopping at the nearby cafe to buy sandwiches and coffee.  He’d smoked three cigarettes over the course of the relatively short walk, and had spoken less than half-a-dozen words.  He hadn’t wanted to say anything more in or around the station, knowing that big ears were inclined to pick up half-sentences and blow them out of proportion; his very public summoning to Innocent’s office was going to give them enough to gossip about for the rest of the day without adding fuel to it.  That Lewis hadn’t questioned him, had merely followed his quiet command of “follow me, please” as he had handed him his coat, spoke volumes to their shared trust.  
  
Huddled on a bench, the debris of the previous night’s storm strewn around them, and his balance restored by caffeine and nicotine, James quietly explained what had happened.  
  
Lewis was mortified.  “Maybe she’s right; maybe I should take a few days.”  
  
“Unless there’s a sudden serious crime spree, we’re a day or so away from the top of the rotation – now could be a good time to say something.”  James held out his hand for Lewis’s sandwich wrapper, which he dropped in the bin beside him.  
  
“I suppose so.  I’ll think about it.”  Lewis sighed.  “What I do have to do though, is go back and apologise for calling Innocent ‘love’.”  He drained the last of his coffee, placing the empty cup in James’s waiting hand.  “Be a damn sight easier if you’d been able to sneak a drop of brandy into that coffee,” he muttered, as they stood up and began a slower walk back to the station.

 

***

 

The afternoon passed quietly.  Lewis had made amends with Innocent and, as far as James could tell, was making a more concerted effort with the performance reviews; it was either that, or he’d played a lot of Solitaire.  A quick Google search also revealed that James had indeed indentified the correct hotel from the number in Harris’s letter, and he confirmed his guess with Lewis.  
  
James swallowed a yawn as he closed the file he’d been reviewing.  Days behind the desk always felt interminable.  He started to shut down his computer, and jumped when Lewis slapped a file hard in the out-tray.  
  
“I’d like to pay Mr Harris a visit – tonight; fancy dropping by that hotel of his?  See if he's in?  I’d like to see if we can’t end this right now.”  
  
“No warning?”  
  
“No warning.”  
  
James wasn’t entirely convinced it was their best option, but there was merit in the element of surprise.   
  
“My car, then?  Just in case you decide to let your mind wander again.”  
  
Lewis shot him a look of pure exasperation, but put his own keys back in his pocket.  
  
It was after six by the time they eventually managed to leave the building and negotiate their way through the peak-hour traffic to the hotel.   
  
Lewis approached the reception desk alone while James found some vacant chairs in the lobby.  It had been decided during the drive over that, as they weren’t here on official business, James would simply be James, and he was to try not to call Lewis ‘sir’.  Lewis had explained that he saw no good reason for Harris to think he was being investigated or questioned in any way; he only wanted to see what Harris claimed to have, and whether or not it would support his assertion of being Val’s son.  As James understood it, he was there for moral support; for Lewis’s sake he hoped tonight _would_ be the end of this, but his gut told him otherwise.  
  
James removed and rolled up his tie, tucking it in his jacket pocket, and loosened off his collar.  As Lewis approached him James thought he looked... grim.   
  
“He was in the room; according to the concierge, he said he was on the way out but he ‘could give us five minutes’.”  Snark from Lewis – Robbie – was never a good sign in James’s experience.  
  
Robbie moved towards the other vacant chair and froze.  James turned and followed his gaze.  James had only ever been shown two photographs of Mark; one from Lyn’s graduation, the other taken at his twenty-first birthday a few months before Val was killed.  They were the two most recent images Robbie had of his whole family together.  The man approaching them now could easily have been an older version of Mark.   
  
“Inspector Lewis?  This was most unexpected.”  A tanned, rough hand was thrust in Robbie’s direction; Robbie’s hands stayed by his side, and Harris smoothly changed the direction of his hand to grasp the back of the nearest chair, which he turned slightly, then sat down.  Robbie introduced James, who remained seated and nodded; Robbie slowly sank into the chair next to James.  James saw Harris give him a brief, appraising glance, before sliding his eyes back to Robbie.  James distrusted him immediately, and every sense was on alert.  If Harris had been thrown by their arrival he certainly didn’t show it.  
  
“If you’d called to say you wanted to meet, I would have changed my plans; I’m afraid you’ve caught me on my way out to...”   
  
“Sorry, it was a spur of the moment decision – James had recognised the phone number you gave in the letter, and when I saw we were passing the hotel it seemed foolish not to take the opportunity.”  
  
James was astonished at how smoothly the lie slipped from Robbie’s mouth.  He believed he knew Robbie better than anyone alive and could read all his tells, but there hadn’t been a twitch.  Yet he always knew when Robbie was being less than truthful with Laura or himself.  _Perhaps he finds it easier to lie to those he expects to hear lies from._    
  
“Ah, so there was no misuse of police resources in tracking me down, then?”  James watched the smug grin on Harris’s face faded under Robbie’s steady eye.  “I don’t know why I didn’t just put the name in the letter; seems rather silly now.”  James thought of a few good reasons why, but held his tongue and waited for Robbie.   
  
“Your letter said you had personal items of my wife’s; I’d like to see them.”   
  
“It’s my wish to return them to Valerie's family, as I also said in my letter.”  James’s gut clenched at the condescending tone Harris used; he could only imagine the restraint Robbie was practicing.  He’d instantly noticed the way Robbie had tensed at hearing a stranger use Val’s name so familiarly.  
  
“Val was _my_ wife; I'd like to see them.  Please.”  James could hear the note of tension in his voice.  He shifted himself in the chair, and inched it closer to Robbie’s; he didn’t try to be subtle.  
  
Harris’s eyes moved from one to the other.  James was aware that in moving his chair, he was now also leaning towards Robbie, and would be very visible in Harris’s peripheral vision when he looked straight at Robbie.  James felt a small rush of satisfaction when Harris sat back in his chair, looking uncomfortable.  
  
“I understand,” Harris said eventually.  “I'm free tomorrow evening, will that be suitable?  Say half-seven?  I am very short of time this evening.”  His eyes flashed on James again.  “Forgive me, but exactly _how_ are you and Inspector Lewis connected?  
  
Robbie answered automatically. "He's me partner."  
  
Harris blinked and his gaze darted rapidly between James and Robbie. A smile – James thought it was more like a leer – appeared on his face.  "Oh.  I see," he drawled.  
  
"I don't think you do,” James responded quickly, and showed him his warrant card. "Detective Sergeant James Hathaway.  Inspector Lewis is my governor."  He turned his head slightly so he could ignore the look Robbie was giving him.  
  
James felt uneasy as Harris’s cockiness returned.  "Why didn’t you say so?"  
  
Robbie frowned, clearly a little perturbed at the turn in the conversation.  "Because we're here on a private matter, not police business.  We're off-duty," he explained patiently, as though to underline the point.  
  
Harris rose smoothly, his expression unchanged.  “Well, it was good to meet you, Inspector, but I really must be on my way; until tomorrow evening.”  He turned and walked calmly and confidently out the hotel entrance.  James scowled, unsure if he was more concerned by Harris’s attitude or the sight of Robbie clenching and unclenching his fists.

 

***

 

Robbie closed his eyes and forced his breathing to slow down.  He wasn’t a violent man by any stretch of the imagination, but the urge to smack the smirk off Harris’s face had been almost irresistible.  He looked sideways at James, who was leaning in closely, his concern etched in the light creases of his brow.   
  
“A drink?” James asked softly.  
  
Robbie blew out a long slow breath and shook his head.  “I think I just want to get home.”  
  
They walked slowly back to James’s car.  
  
“Be quicker if I drop you straight home, rather than going back to the station for your car.  I don’t mind swinging by in the morning to pick you up,” James added.   
  
“Thanks, James.  That’d be...  I don’t feel like driving.  That’ll save me a bit of stress.”  
  
They were almost at his street when Robbie spoke again.  “Why did you show him your warrant card?  I thought we’d agreed...”   
  
“He was getting ideas that weren’t going to help anyone.  I felt it was best he knew who he was dealing with.  I’m sorry if I’ve...”  
  
“No, no.  It’s fine, James, I trust you.”  The lights of an oncoming car swept across James’s face as he waited to turn right, and Robbie was astonished to see his cheeks were red.  
  
James spoke hesitantly as he pulled up in front of Robbie’s building.  “Would you like me to... did you want some company this evening?”  
  
Robbie considered James’s offer.  He’d put Harris’s comments and James’s blushes together, and mentally kicked himself for being distracted yet again.  Although he’d slept better than he’d expected last night, he felt it was unfair and selfish to James to let him think he was using him as a comforter, even though, despite his discomfort right now, he suspected the lad would willingly take on that role until all this was past – and perhaps beyond.  He wanted James to understand he meant far more to him than that, but this wasn’t yet the time or place.  
  
“Thanks for the offer, lad, but I just want to have a long, hot shower, a drink, and to get to me bed.  And I promise it’ll just be the one.”  James’s eyes had widened in alarm.  “Tomorrow’s going to be a long bloody day.  I don’t need a hangover to make it longer.”


	4. Wednesday

James looked across the office at a soft exclamation from Lewis.  
  
“Me brother’s replied – I’ve got a number for Susanna.”  The trepidation in his voice drowned the tiny note of victory.  “She’s living in Southampton now.”  
  
As James watched him, Lewis lifted the handset of his desk phone, put it down, and picked up his mobile before placing it carefully back on the desk.  He stared at James.  James observed that he was breathing more quickly, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as started swallowing; he looked like James had felt the morning after he’d been clubbing at Communion with Zoë Kenneth.  
  
James relied on his instincts; he stood and slipped his jacket from the back of his chair.  “I might head out – pick up some coffee and pastries.  If I take the long way I’ll be at least... twenty minutes?”  
  
Lewis’s sigh of relief was a full-body motion, as he nodded his thanks and pulled out a ten-pound note which he waved at James; James plucked it from his fingers with a half-grin as he headed out.

 

***

 

James hadn’t anticipated arriving at the cafe at the same time as two tour buses, and it was over half an hour before he walked back in.  His stomach sank a little when it appeared Lewis was no more settled than he had been when he left.  
  
He closed the door, and placed the cups and bags on Lewis’s desk.  He rolled his chair around so he was sitting on the opposite side of the desk, and pushed one of the cups towards Lewis, who picked it up as though it were wafer-thin glass.   
  
After several deep breaths, Lewis spoke quietly.  “It was good to hear her voice after all this time, but I think I was a bit abrupt, though.  Told her straight up I had some questions about the times she and Val spent together, before and after we were married.”  He sipped carefully, placing the cup back on the table with care.  “She didn’t say anything for a bit, like she was deciding what to do.  Didn’t even ask what it was I wanted to know: I got the sense she does know something.”  James found Lewis’s grey pallor slightly disturbing.  “She was too ready to meet up, you know?  I never got as far as offering to go to her; she said she’d come up here day after tomorrow, Friday.  I’m meeting her around ten.  She’s going to let me know where tomorrow.”  
  
James wasn’t surprised Robbie looked sick.  Susanna’s eagerness to meet Robbie suggested a guilty conscience; it was something he’d seen often enough in the job.  
  
James’s concern took over once again.  He fleetingly wondered if this was what it was like when you were a parent. "Perhaps it _would_ be best to book some days off – now.  Whichever days you take, I'll join you.  If you want me to, that is," he added, aware he was possibly at risk of presuming too much.  Robbie's look of gratitude swiftly allayed that fear.  
  
He smiled across at James. "Might be good to take Friday, at least – then I’ll not have to worry about getting called out and missing Susanna.”  James waited, giving Lewis a chance to think this through.  Lewis slowly split the paper bag open along the seam, exposing the golden contents.  His hands stopped in the process of flattening the paper against the desk and he slowly stared at James.  He nodded, his mind seemingly made up.  “You’re right – I can see it in your face – a week, perhaps.  I'll see Innocent; you've been in the lion's den already this week.  Not until I've enjoyed this, though," he murmured, as he bit into the sweet pastry.

 

***

 

A call for assistance from Grainger’s team was a welcome break from the paperwork cycle Lewis and James had found themselves in.  Robbie spent the rest of the day with one group, searching through CCTV footage, looking for two women on a stolen motorbike who were the primary suspects in a series of violent robberies.  James joined the door-to-door in the vicinity of where the bike had been taken.  The team was looking for anything that might indicate where their ‘home ground’ was, or give a clue to their identities.  Grainger had been grateful for two more pairs of experienced eyes.   
  
By four, the team were confident they had an address, and the door-to-door team were recalled.  When Lewis and James met up in the break room, they were tired, aching and hungry.  
  
“I’m heading home before I face that... him again.”  Robbie yawned loudly.  “I’ll be in a right bloody mood if I don’t.  What about you?”  
  
“Shall I pick you up at seven, or would you rather get there earlier?  Are you going to eat something at home?  Do you have anything?  I could phone through an order and be at yours by six; we could eat together.”  For a brief moment, James reminded Robbie of Val when she was worried about the long hours he put in with Morse.    
  
“Six sounds good; but skip the takeaway.”  He smiled at James’s puzzlement.  “I’ve still got a casserole in the freezer from the last time Lyn was down.  If I go home now I can get it in the oven and it’ll be ready for six.”

 

***

 

Dinner with James had improved Robbie’s mood greatly.  Whether it was deliberate or not, James had kept the conversation moving along, easily switching from one ‘safe’ topic to another and skilfully avoiding any lulls.  It wasn’t until they were in the car that Robbie realised James had managed to avoid all mention of families.  He felt better prepared to face Harris than he had when they’d left work.   
  
He was even more grateful for James’s presence when they arrived at the hotel and were directed to Harris’s room.  Robbie had assumed he would meet them in either the bar or restaurant, and the thought of being in a private space with him, even with James at his side, set him on edge.  
  
Harris was charming – greasily so; Robbie felt like wiping his palm against his trousers after they shook hands.  He’d been less inviting to James, and didn’t even attempt to hide his displeasure at seeing him there.  
  
Harris sat himself in the only armchair in the room, leaving Robbie and James no choice but to either remain standing or sit on the bed.  Robbie sat down on the corner, facing Harris; James moved himself so that he was standing behind Robbie’s shoulder and in Harris’s line of sight.  There was a bottle of whisky and two glasses on the small coffee table, but Harris made no move to offer either of them a drink.  Robbie was becoming irritated by the way Harris was watching them, as he seemed to have taken an unusual interest in James.  Robbie tried to focus on the issue at hand, taking comfort from having James close by; he was afraid of giving into the urge to shake Harris until he had told everything he possibly could.   
  
Harris demonstrated that he wasn’t there to be sociable by getting straight to the heart of the matter.  He reached behind the seat and pulled out a battered shoe box which he laid across his lap.  
  
“What I know, I mostly learned from my birth father and adoptive parents.  It was October 1973.  Valerie was fifteen.  There was a party – my father’s eighteenth – and he’d invited a lot of friends from school.  Valerie had arrived with a friend – he could never remember her name.  According to Valerie, she’d told her mum she was sleeping over at her friend’s, and her friend had done the same.”  That didn’t surprise or shock Robbie – his Lyn had done the same to Val and him – once.  “She flirted with my dad all night.  He was flattered, and after a couple of drinks she wouldn’t leave him alone.”   
  
That didn’t ring true to Robbie; in all their years together he’d only ever seen Val drunk twice, and she certainly hadn’t been flirty or flighty those times – though he knew people could change.  He forced himself to focus on Harris’s monologue.  _Little sadist’s enjoying this._  
  
“She said was a virgin.” Robbie wanted to slap him for his sneering tone and, judging by the hand that suddenly pressed down his shoulder, so did James.  “About five weeks later she went to her Aunt Cissy in a panic.  That’s when my dad found out.  She – her Aunt Cissy – arrived on the doorstep.  Valerie was pulled out of school and sent to live with her grandmother in Birmingham, I believe it was, until after the baby – me – was born.  She saw me once after that day, and I was eventually adopted by my aunt and her husband, who lived in Summerfield – it was all arranged between the two families.”  Robbie’s instincts were prickled.  Private adoptions weren’t unheard of in the seventies, but once again, something about Harris’s story wasn’t ringing true.  He was cut off by Harris before he could question him.  “I don’t know how they managed it – I was never curious enough to ask and I honestly didn’t care – but I do know my adoptive mother had all the correct documentation; they never would have been able to get a passport for me without it.  Valerie’s family left Oxford soon after.”  
  
Robbie forced himself to breathe slowly.  James sank slowly onto the end of bed next to him, drawing Harris’s gaze.  As Robbie was on the corner, James was actually behind him and Robbie could feel his upper arm and elbow pressed against his back.  He couldn’t see James’s face, but he had no doubt he was watching Harris closely.  A smug smile twitched the corners of Harris’s mouth and eyes, and Robbie clasped his hands together tighter, trying not to imagine his neck in between them.   
  
Harris shifted the box in his lap and continued.  “I always knew I was adopted, and who my biological father was.  My adoptive mother had wanted to keep in contact with Valerie as well, but her mum had vetoed it, saying Valerie was getting on with her life and better off without the memories.  Mum tried again after we emigrated, hoping the distance might make a difference.  She eventually got a letter to Valerie through her Aunt Cissy in 1984, when I was ten.  Valerie wrote back to my mum, and they exchanged letters for years.  She first wrote to me…”  
  
“What?” Robbie almost shouted in shock.  “She wrote to both of you?”  
  
Harris nodded.  “The first letter to me arrived just after my eighteenth birthday in 1992.”  Robbie quickly worked out that Lyn had been thirteen, and Mark coming up for eleven.   
  
“She never told you?”  Harris looked and sounded perplexed, but Robbie didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him.   
  
“I never knew you existed until your letter arrived.”  He fought to keep his tone even.  
  
Harris didn’t turn a hair.  “My apologies,” he said smoothly.  “I assumed you knew; Mum was always under the impression you knew – that that was why Valerie started writing back after getting the letter from her Aunt Cissy.”  James shifted awkwardly where he was sitting, his elbow digging in hard above Robbie’s hip and drawing his attention.  James was staring at Harris, and though his face was neutral, Robbie knew he was taking in every detail, every word.  Robbie leant slightly back against James’s arm, drawing reassurance from the returned pressure; he didn’t miss the flicker in Harris’s eyes.  _Let the bastard think what he wants._   Robbie felt Harris couldn’t bring him anymore grief, no matter what he did.  
  
Harris opened the box on his lap.  Inside, Robbie could see a small bundle of envelopes and some photographs.  His heart sank as he recognised Val’s handwriting.  Harris lifted the top photograph and passed it to Robbie.  It was Val; she was sitting in an armchair, holding a tiny baby.  "It was the only time she saw me."  There was tremor of anger in Harris’s tone which Robbie hadn’t expected.  
  
Without lifting his eyes from the photo, Robbie held out his hand for the box.  There was a delay before the box was placed in his hand.  Robbie flicked through the bundle of letters; though the envelopes changed, the handwriting was consistently Val’s.  He placed the bundle beside him on the bed and drew out the loose photographs.  He sorted through them slowly, looking for landmarks and clues.  He was stunned to see images of Lyn and Mark at various ages, as well as Val's family; he noticed that he wasn’t featured in any of them.   
  
“How did you know who I was?  When we came here last night, you came straight towards me, you never even glanced at the desk – how did you know?”  
  
“The newspaper clipping – your photo was quite prominent – you haven’t changed a great deal since 2002.”  
  
Harris had pointed toward the box.  Looking again, Robbie saw the piece of newspaper folded on the bottom.  He didn’t have to open it up to know what it was.  He’d seen the article from the Oxford Mail more times than he cared to remember.  Putting the photographs back, he picked up the letters and turned them over in his hands.  
  
“You said you found these things in your mother’s papers.  Why would she have kept letters and photos addressed to you?  And where’d the newspaper clipping come from?”  
  
His answer came too readily, too smoothly.  “She'd asked me if she could keep them.  She said I might want them one day when I was older.  I didn’t see the harm, I doubt she read them.  This may sound heartless, but... they have no real value to me.  I never met Valerie; she was a name and a face in an old photo.  But... when I saw that clipping – I don't know where it came from, or when – I thought... I’m not sure what I thought now.  This seemed like a good idea at the time.”  
  
James spoke for the first time since entering the room.  “Are you saying that the first you knew of Mrs Lewis’s passing was discovering the clipping?”  Harris nodded, his face uncertain.  “You never wondered why you didn’t receive anything after the end of 2002?  Never asked your father?  Surely you must have presumed something major had happened?”  
  
James had risen to his feet as he spoke, and was towering over both Robbie and Harris.  Robbie tugged at his jacket sleeve.  “That’s enough, James,” he said, his voice quietly commanding.  James sat without another word.  Robbie fixed his eyes on Harris, waiting for his answer to James’s questions.  
  
Harris swallowed hard.  “I did ask my mum if she knew anything.  She... because the letters to her stopped as well, she suggested that perhaps you… that something had happened and you’d forbidden Val to write to us any more, and that it would be best for all if I didn’t write either.  As I said, I don't know the origin of the clipping.”  His mannerisms and hesitation suggested he was lying, but Robbie had no proof and, as much as he found Harris offensive, he wouldn’t judge him without proof.  Nor would he give him more information than he thought appropriate.  
  
“My wife’s family’s a bit scattered now.  If you leave the box with me I can ask her mother if she wants it.”  Robbie doubted she would, but he didn’t want to risk Harris taking the box and its contents and destroying it.  It was unlikely Harris had come halfway around the world simply to return some letters and photographs.  There was more going on here than Robbie currently understood, and he wanted – needed – to know what that was.  
  
Harris appeared to give it some thought, though there was something a little off in his manner.  
  
“Fair enough.”  Harris rose to his feet quickly.  The movement startled Robbie and, before he could say anything, James had stood again and taken a step towards Harris, who froze.  
  
“Steady on.  I’m just getting some paper.”  He gestured towards the small desk.  He wrote on a piece of hotel stationery and handed the paper to Robbie; it was a local address.  “I’m checking out on Friday.  If neither you nor Valerie’s family want to keep the box, it can be returned there.”  
  
“Who’s this, then?” Robbie asked.  
  
Harris hesitated again.  “Just a friend.  They can get the box back to me if necessary.”  
  
“I thought the letters and photos had no value to you – why would you want them back?” James quizzed him.  
  
Robbie placed a hand against James’s arm; the level of his hostility towards Harris puzzled Robbie.  He'd expected a certain degree – it was obvious that James didn’t like Harris, and Robbie had also been aware for some time that James was more invested in him than a bagman would normally be – but it was as though James had taken Harris's behaviour personally.  Robbie was too overwhelmed to think through the implications of that at that moment, and pushed it to the back of his mind to deal with later.  
  
However, James had asked a valid question; with James, he stared at Harris and waited for his reply.  
  
“Perhaps my children might want to know about their grandmother one day.”  Robbie had no response to that.


	5. Wednesday - later that evening

 

Robbie asked James to wait for a moment before he started the car.  He’d been rocked by what he’d learnt and the near-murderous look on James’s face.  
  
"What was that all about, James?  You looked like you wanted to arrest him."  
  
"If being a sly, heartless bastard was a crime, I would have.”  James’s jaw was tight as he spoke.  “Basic common-sense should've given him some idea of the pain this would cause you.  He was enjoying it, the sadistic..."  
  
"You heard him – he thought I knew."  
  
"It's no excuse.  Whether you knew or not, raking up the past, particularly that of someone who's a stranger to you, is callous and thoughtless.”  James started the car and pulled into the stream of traffic.  
  
“James, we do that all the time.”  
  
“To solve a crime, not for... something to do.  I'd like to find out who his birth father is – he wasn’t very forthcoming about that – see if it gives us any clue to the type of person he really is.”   
  
“What d'you want to go and do that for?”  Robbie wasn’t sure he could see the benefit in knowing.   
  
“I didn't like him and I don't trust him.  I like to know my enemy.”  
  
“Your ene– _James!_ ”  James’s full attention was on the road, for which Robbie was grateful, but he really wanted to see his eyes.  
  
James exhaled heavily.  “Judging by his manner last night and tonight, my gut tells me he could cause trouble.  I want to know who we're dealing with.  Did you see his face after he handed you that first photo?”  
  
“No.  I was too focussed on the photo; I know he was angry.”  
  
“Oh, yes; and all that anger was directed at you.”  There was fury in James’s tone.  
  
“Don’t be daft...”  
  
“Sir, he was looking at you, not the photo – you were definitely the object of his anger.”  
  
“That’s ridiculous, James – it makes no sense.  It was nothing to do with me.   Val wasn’t even in Newcastle when it all happened.”  
  
“I know what I saw, sir,” James said quietly, as he killed the engine and removed the keys.  Robbie glanced out the window in surprise as he hadn’t realised they’d arrived at his flat.  He looked back at James, who was watching him.  With a sigh and a nod he accepted what James had told him; he trusted James’s skills as a police officer, and that included his powers of observation.  
  
“You coming in, then?”  He was relieved when James smiled and opened his door.

 

***

 

Inside, Robbie headed to the fridge, while James put the kettle on.  James then turned around and took the two beers from Robbie’s hands and returned them to the fridge unopened.  
  
“Eh?”  Robbie frowned.  James made the tea in silence, apart from viciously muttering a string of Greek or Latin – Robbie wasn’t quite sure which – when he banged his head digging out the teapot.  
  
They sat down at the table and James finally spoke.  
  
“Harris’s father.  I want to check him out, but I won’t go any further without your permission.”  
  
Robbie still didn’t understand why James had this particular bee in his bonnet, but he knew James and knew there would be a reason once James explained his logic.  The easiest thing was to go along with it.  “Why don’t you just ask Harris directly?  If he's nothing to hide, he'll give the information easily enough, I'd say.”  
  
James fixed him with his best ‘really-sir?’ look.  “And how readily do I talk about my family, _sir_?”  
  
Robbie conceded the point.  "If it's got you that worked up, why don't you investigate him?"  
  
James shrank down in his seat. "I already have... as far as I can.”  
  
“You've what?”  
  
James spoke angrily.  “This Harris has charged into your life and forced you to question everything you knew about Val.  He had no right, none whatsoever.”  
  
“Okay, James.”  Robbie laid a hand against his arm.  “I know you care and I appreciate that – but I'm a big boy; I can look after meself.”  James gave him a look which suggested he thought otherwise in this case.  Robbie sighed.  “So what did you find out and why's it so bloody important, anyway?”  
  
James breathed out heavily.  “Nature _and_ nurture shape a person, and I just think we should have a clearer picture of who he is.  And I came up empty.”  He scowled.  “Without starting a formal enquiry, I can't really access the records I need.”  
  
“Adoption records, you mean?”  
  
James nodded.  “And there’s only so much a request for a background check will bring back.”  
  
“You know we've no grounds to open a formal investigation?”  Robbie watched his reaction carefully.  If anyone could find a way to circumvent the system, it would be James.  Whether he _would_ was a different matter entirely.  
  
“I know,” James muttered.  “Maybe there's something in that lot.”  He stabbed his thumb towards the box that now sat on the kitchen worktop.  
  
“Not tonight, please, James,” Robbie whispered sadly.  “I've had enough for tonight.”  They drank in silence.  
  
  
  
James cleared away the tea things and, as James had thwarted his earlier effort to have something stronger, Robbie pulled out two glasses and the bottle of whisky he’d conveniently ‘forgotten’ to give to James.  He didn’t miss James’s look of concern.   
  
“Can you stay tonight?  If you can, you can keep an eye on me; if you’re not, then let me have a couple of drinks – I doubt I’ll sleep otherwise – and you can take this with you when you go home.  And if it’ll help put your mind at rest, you can search the rest of me cupboards as well.”  
  
James held out his hand for the bottle, looking as exasperated as Robbie often felt.  “I’ll pour.”  He wiped out the glasses, poured out two generous measures and handed one to Robbie.  “I don’t believe you need anyone to keep an eye on you, but if you don’t want to be on your own tonight I’d be more than happy to stay.”  
  
Suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the shock of the night’s revelations and by relief that James would stay, Robbie put his glass on the table and dropped heavily back into his chair.  James slipped into the chair next to him, and their knees brushed as James pulled his chair in. Robbie found himself leaning into the touch.  James nudged Robbie’s glass closer to him.  
  
Robbie’s hand was trembling as he picked up the glass.  He forced himself to breathe slowly, concentrating until his hand steadied.  He downed the golden liquid in one swallow, closing his eyes as the alcohol hit his bloodstream, savouring that first wave of light-headedness.  He leant back against the chair and opened one eye to look at James.  “I’m okay, and, no, I don’t want to be on me own.  Thanks.”  
  
James’s shoulders relaxed and he refilled Robbie’s glass.   Robbie watched him then take the bottle into the kitchen and tuck it back inside the cupboard.  Gently spinning the glass between his fingers, Robbie concentrated on the rough scrape of glass against wood as he focussed on the shifting light and colour.  There was something nagging at the back of his mind, and if he could only put the pieces together...  
  
“Morse!” he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright.  Whisky slopped over his fingers with the jerk of his hand.  
  
“What?”  James frowned and stretched across to pluck several tissues from the nearby box. He wiped the table and the underside of Robbie’s glass as Robbie explained.  
  
“His eighteenth birthday.  July of ninety-two.  That’s when Val first started to write directly to him.”  Robbie could see James connecting the dots, and made a small noise of satisfaction when James confirmed the fact.  “Morse had lost his niece a couple of months earlier – this sick bastard was using teenagers as guinea pigs for a new dementia drug.  She killed herself, poor lass – she was only 16.  I was worried about our Lyn, and I probably told Val more than I should have.”  
  
He was frustrated by James’s seemingly blank stare.   
  
“I can’t understand why she suddenly chose to start writing to him then.  She’d been writing to his mother – adoptive mother – for a quite a few years at that point.  She could have written to him at any time if she’d wanted to, surely?  What d'you think?  Is it...?”  It hit Robbie that all the speculation in the world was just that, and he slumped back in the chair.  James’s silence didn’t help.  “Oh, hell, where's the point?  It could’ve simply been the fact he was turning eighteen.” he whispered, taking a large mouthful of whisky and leaning heavily on the table.  “I can't ask her.  And making wild guesses about it's not going to do any good – not now.”  
  
James made an odd small strangled noise, as though he started to speak and quickly swallowed his words.  He was biting down hard on his bottom lip when Robbie looked at him.  Robbie studied him closely, and felt his anger begin to rise again.  
  
"Was that what you were going to say?  It’s pointless?"  It was an accusation.  James started to turn pink.  
  
"No. I... I thought... but I wouldn't have..." James stammered, fidgeting in discomfort.  
  
"So, you're a psychologist now – is that it?  Think you know what this is like?  Think you can..."  
  
"No!" James was emphatic, cutting off Robbie in mid-flight.  "No.  I don't understand what it's like to discover your partner, your spouse, has kept a huge secret from you, but I _do_ know what it's like to feel betrayed by someone you're supposed to be able to trust.  I expect it's not vastly different.  I hate seeing you turned inside-out like this.  I want to help you but I don’t know what I should do, and I’m horribly afraid of saying the wrong thing."  
  
Robbie was caught unprepared when James then pulled him into a hug.  It was unexpected but not unwelcome, and Robbie felt himself relax into James’s embrace.  It had been a very long time since anyone had hugged him this way and he hadn’t been aware how much he’d missed it; he found himself clinging to James, and closed his eyes.  He slowly opened them after a time, aware that James was gently rocking back and forth with him in his arms.  He had no idea when James started, and he didn’t fight it.

***

 

Though the room was dark, James was close enough to watch the rise and fall of Robbie’s chest as he lay beside him in bed; he fought the temptation to slide closer, to touch.  Robbie had drifted off in James’s arms and he had reluctantly woken him so they could go to bed.  James had quietly cursed himself for not anticipating this possibility and packing an overnight bag, just in case.  He had resigned himself to another night in dirty clothes when Robbie, still a little groggy from his interrupted sleep, had waved towards the far bedside table.   
  
“In the drawer – they should fit.”  Robbie had then stumbled towards the bathroom, leaving James to investigate.  Inside were a clean white t-shirt and boxers – both fairly new if appearances were anything to go by.  Robbie had wandered back in, now wearing pyjamas, and there was a smear of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth.  
  
“They’re our Lyn’s Tim’s – they left some laundry here last time they were down.  I’d forgotten about them until I was digging around in the cupboard for some new socks last night.  Tim’s not quite as tall as you, but I’d say you’re physically similar.  You don’t mind, do you?” he’d added worriedly.  “I thought it’d be nicer than...”  
  
“It was kind of you to think of me – as long as Tim doesn’t mind?”  
  
“What he doesn’t know, eh?  That’s what washing machines are for.”  
  
James had grinned, relieved that Robbie seemed to have regained some balance, and gestured towards the bathroom.  “Do you mind if I shower?  I often sleep better if I can have a warm shower just before bed.”   
  
“Towels are in the cupboard.”  
  
James had headed out of the bedroom, stopping in front of Robbie.  “By the way, you have...”  He’d wiped away the white smear with his thumb and continued out the door.  
  
Robbie had appeared to be asleep when James returned.  He’d flicked off the hall light and, after retrieving it from the table, used the glow from his phone to guide him back to the other side of the bed.   
  
James forced his mind to slow.  Once again, he wished there was something they could charge Harris with, anything that would give them approval to dig further into his life.  There was far more to this than just returning some letters and photographs; James felt it and was certain Robbie did too, even if he wasn’t willing to admit it.  If that was really all Harris wanted to do, surely he could have contacted Robbie by post at the station, as he had, then possibly email.  Something else had brought him to England, and James was more convinced than ever that Harris’s father was central to this.  James closed his eyes and breathed deeply and slowly.  He needed a decent night’s sleep, if only for Robbie’s sake.  They had work tomorrow and then they were both off until Monday week. James concentrated on clearing his mind. 

 

***

 

James woke with a jerk, and tried to identify what had disturbed him.  It was Robbie.  He sounded as though he was panting hard, and James could feel that he was trembling.  Worried that he may be ill, James reacted instinctively, rolling over and squeezing Robbie's shoulder to comfort him.  He was caught by surprise when Robbie, startled by the touch, abruptly sat up, spun around and stared at him wide-eyed.  Once again, the look of loss on his face stabbed James to the core. This time, however, James didn’t hesitate, sitting up and pulling him into another fierce hug.  Robbie held tightly to James, who held Robbie until he fell asleep in his arms once again.  James lay back against the pillows as carefully as he could, bringing Robbie with him.   
  
When the alarm blared the next morning, he took a moment to realise he still had Robbie in his arms.  Before he could move, Robbie had pushed himself up on one arm and was reaching over the top of James to silence the buzzing.  
  
He looked down at James, gave him a small, shy smile, and softly murmured, “Thank you.”  James only released his breath when Robbie rolled away to the other side of the bed and got up.


	6. Thursday

 

“Yes, Ma’am.”  
  
Lewis scowled as he replaced the receiver.  
  
“C’mon, you.”  He flicked a paperclip at James.  “We’ve been summoned and she doesn’t sound happy.”  
  
James slowly turned away from the monitor.  “I’ve been with you all week, and neither of us has been anywhere near any of the colleges; it can’t be that serious.”  
  
“Cancelled leave?” Robbie offered.  James shrugged.  
  
  
  
“Lewis, Hathaway, take a seat.”  Innocent studied them carefully.  The only expression she could interpret on either of them was curiosity, and she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or frustrated.  They were either completely ignorant of the contents of the letter in front of her, or they’d already got their stories straight.  
  
“There have been grave allegations made about both of you and, for reasons not made entirely clear to me, the Assistant Chief Constable is taking them very seriously, indeed.”  
  
When their expressions changed from curious to perplexed, Innocent took a deep breath and ploughed on.  
  
“Did you visit a Mr Carl Harris at his hotel on two consecutive evenings?”  
  
James sagged in his chair and Robbie groaned.  “Yes, Ma’am.  We...”  
  
Innocent held up a hand and gave him a patient smile.  “Please let me give you the meat of this ‘complaint’, and then you can explain.”  He sat back in the chair.   
  
Innocent exhaled loudly and flicked the paper in her hands.  “According to this, you arrived at the hotel unannounced on Wednesday evening and neither of you ‘ _made it clear that Sergeant Hathaway was a police officer until later in the proceedings_ ’.  As that meeting was unplanned, Mr Harris chose to give you both ‘ _the benefit of the doubt and assumed that Sergeant Hathaway was there not of his own free will_ ’.  However, when James also attended the second meeting, Mr Harris states he became alarmed.  His business with Inspector Lewis ‘ _was of a personal nature and had nothing to do with Sergeant Hathaway_ ’.  He goes on to state that he construed James’s presence there as a threat, and that James was also intimidating and aggressive.”  
  
She laid the paper carefully on the desk.  “That arrived on the ACC’s desk at half-eight.  How it got that far without coming by this desk first is still a mystery, though we have managed to determine that it was hand-delivered around ten last night; there are currently some hard questions being asked.  However, my question to you is how much is true and how much is pot-stirring?”  
  
Innocent watched them exchange glances.  Their ability to communicate without words was an amazing gift for partners to have, but it made it damn hard for her to work out what was going on.  Lewis sat up tall in his chair while James slumped a little lower; that wasn’t a good sign.  
  
Lewis cleared his throat.  “Put like that, it’s all true.  However, James was simply responding to Harris; in an interview room his behaviour would have been... acceptable.”  
  
“But you weren’t in an interview room, Lewis.  And if it was a personal matter, why was James there at all?”  
  
Lewis sighed.  _And I thought he couldn’t cause any more grief.  Idiot, Robbie._  “The first visit was a spur of the moment thing, and it never occurred to me _not_ to have James there.  But after that encounter, after getting a feel for the type of person Harris was, I decided I wanted an independent witness to whatever he was going to tell me... and someone who'd be able to tell if I was going to hit him or not and stop me.”  
  
Innocent clasped her hands together and placed them slowly on the desk.  “This is connected to your...  lack of focus... this week, isn’t it?”  Lewis nodded.  “And you're not going to give me any more clues, are you?”  
  
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, it’s not... not yet, there’re still too many unanswered questions.”  
  
“I’m sorry to add to whatever else is going on, but you should also be aware he believes we should be looking into your personal relationship – that perhaps you're in breach of regulations.”  
  
“He's what?”  Either they were good actors, or they were genuinely confused.  
  
She picked up a second page that was sitting inside the file on her desk.   
  
"And I quote, ‘ _I believe they are in an intimate homosexual relationship.  Their behaviour and manner towards each other would indicate that they have been involved for a considerable period of time_ ’.”  
  
They stared at her in open-mouthed shock, and all the colour had drained from James’s face.  Innocent thought they looked like two children who’d just been told Santa Claus wasn’t real, such was the disbelief in their eyes.  
  
"Ma'am, you can't seriously believe...” Robbie managed to splutter out.  
  
“Are you aware that Mr Harris states he is a clinical psychologist – one of your favourite people – and considers himself quite adept at reading people and their relationships?”  She waited for their response.  James recovered first.  
  
“Ma’am, I – we – can assure you that there is _nothing_ inappropriate in our relationship, our partnership.”  His voice rang with honesty and integrity.  It was more or less what she had expected to hear.  
  
“I believe you, James, and will make sure the ACC does as well.  However, I suspect Mr Harris has had limited experience with police officers, and even less with teams such as yourself.  I've been forced into meeting with him later this afternoon, where, in addition to dealing with the intimidation claim, I will explain the pressures of the job and the bond that forms between a governor and his bagman, and I will stress the platonic nature of your relationship – it is platonic, isn't it?”  She wanted to test them one more time.  
  
They both stared at her, clearly horrified that she could even ask the question.  
  
"Thank you, gentlemen; your expressions were all the verification I needed."  She bit her bottom lip at the annoyed look Lewis flashed at her.  “Now, give me something further to work with on this intimidation accusation.”  
  
"I was possibly looming, Ma'am," James mumbled.  
  
“James, with your height, simply standing when everyone else is sitting could be construed as looming; there must be more to it than that.  Robbie?  James?”  She decided to try another tactic.  
  
“James, perhaps if you could leave the Inspector and me alone...?”  
  
“No.”  Robbie’s voice was firm but calm.  “James stays.”  
  
Innocent glanced from one to the other. James was leaning heavily on the arm of his chair, his shoulder almost touching Lewis’s.  It was almost... protective; that was the only word which fitted.  It raised a small doubt.  _If they say there’s nothing going on, I have to believe them._  
  
  
  
Aware that she needed as many facts as possible to prevent the situation becoming a potential PR nightmare, Robbie summarised their encounters with Harris as thoroughly as he could, without bringing Val’s name or Harris’s connection to her into the explanation.  He chose his words carefully to avoid misrepresenting James – he had only been doing what any good friend would have, and had done so admirably; Robbie knew that had their roles been reversed he would have done the same.  He could tell by Innocent’s face that she wasn’t entirely happy, but Robbie couldn’t give her any more.  He was relieved when she finally dismissed them.

 


	7. Thursday - afternoon and evening

 

The afternoon had dragged, and Robbie and James hadn’t heard a word from Innocent about her meeting with Harris.  James secretly hoped he’d been intimidated by her; half the station was, why should he get off lightly just because he was a member of the public?  Robbie declared the day over and their leave begun at one minute past five.  
  
After a quick stop at the shops – James was going to cook spaghetti bolognese – Robbie and James headed back to Robbie’s flat.  Now that it was a reality, James found he was looking forward to the week away from work.  Even if everything were to miraculously be resolved by tomorrow’s meeting with Susanna, Robbie was going to need some clear time to assimilate the new history, and James was glad he’d be able to be there for him.  He understood all too well that you don’t get everything you thought you knew about someone you loved turned upside down, and breeze on the very next day.  
  
James was still adjusting to the way Robbie had dropped his guard about Val around him.  Until the arrest of Simon Monkford several years earlier for the hit and run that had taken Val from Robbie, James had always suppressed his copper’s instinct to ask questions whenever Robbie’s past had been raised.  But now, although Robbie wasn’t actually encouraging him to dig, he wasn’t backing away when James did probe for anything that might help make some sense of his altered reality.  
  
“Would it have made a difference to you if you’d known? About the baby?” James asked as he poured the last of the wine.  
  
“No, of course it wouldn’t have.  I loved Val.  Can’t change what’s past.”  
  
“You’re speaking as you – now – with years together, and as a father and grandfather.  What about the 21-year-old you?  What did you want then?  What did your family expect?  What did Val think your family expected?”  
  
Robbie frowned and shook his head.  “I wanted Val.  You playing ‘Twenty Questions’ now?”  
  
“I’m just trying to help you find a reason.  You loved and trusted Val and I don’t want you to be questioning that for the rest of your life because _he_ decided to go on a journey of discovery or whatever it is he thinks he’s doing.”  James let his feelings flow into his words, his vehemence causing Robbie to sit back a little and stare at him in surprise.  “There has to be a reason she never told you, and you have to find out what that was or _this_ is going to taint every memory you have.”  
  
Robbie took a slow drink.  “Perhaps there _is_ something in the letters, but I honestly don’t think I can bring myself to read them.”  
  
James backed down a little.  “Wait and see what Susanna has to say tomorrow – make a decision from there.”  
  
Robbie looked at James, his gaze searching.  This was one of those times James both thanked and cursed his ability to read his Governor with just a glance.  He shook his head slowly.  “Oh, no.  No, I wouldn’t know what to look for.”

  
“Wouldn’t you, James?” Robbie asked softly.  “You’re a copper; you were going to be a priest.”  
  
James remained silent; he knew Robbie would see his uncertainty.  “I’m not asking Harris,” Robbie whispered.  James was still hesitant.  “As far as I know, Susanna never saw Val after we moved here.  What if all she can tell me for certain is that, yes, Val had a baby.  Because that’s the one thing she _is_ going to tell me – an’ you know it, too.  Maybe she knows why Val stayed silent, maybe she doesn’t.  But she won’t be able to tell me why Val wrote those letters.  James, I can’t – won’t – trust anyone else.  Whatever’s in those letters…”  
  
James held his hand out for the box.  “I’m not opening it until after you’ve spoken to your cousin.  If I don’t have to...”  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
They settled in to watch a repeat of a documentary they’d both missed the first time around.  James asked Robbie if he wanted him to stay again.  
  
“I think I’ll be fine.  But.  If I need to, can I call you?”  
  
“Anytime.”   
  
James had paced his drinks carefully over the evening and knew Robbie had had the lion’s share of the bottle of red.  Knowing he was safe to drive, James left Robbie shortly after ten, having once again assured Robbie he could call him at any time.  James stopped a few steps from Robbie’s door and waited; from the look on Robbie’s face as he’d closed the door, he half-expected to be called back.  His shoulders sagged when he heard the clunk of the lock.  
  
James was acutely aware that he wasn’t looking forward to his own bed.


	8. Friday

 

James arrived as Robbie was finishing breakfast.  It didn’t take a detective to see that he hadn’t slept well; nor had James.   
  
Unable to sleep, and worried about Robbie, James had initially paced through his flat for nearly an hour, trying to decide how best to support him the following day.  He thought it was a safe assumption that Robbie would want him around for that evening at the very least, so he thought about what he could cook for dinner – and breakfast, he hoped.  He could get the shopping while he waited; that would fill in about half an hour.  James had then packed an overnight bag – just in case.  He’d considered packing a second larger bag, taking a wider selection of clothes and personal items as Robbie had suggested, but decided to wait until this unsettling business was over.  While the idea had a lot of appeal – there had been several occasions in the past where he’d have loved nothing more than to shower away the filth and horrors of the day and change before they’d spent the evening at Robbie’s dining table sorting through a case – James wanted to be certain Robbie hadn’t spoken out of his need at that moment.  
  
Glaring at the clock, he’d poured himself a large glass of wine and taken it into the bathroom.  After a warm shower and a second glass of wine he’d finally crawled into bed – and tossed and turned for several hours.  The last time he’d looked at the clock, it was three in the morning. 

 

***

 

James dropped Robbie off at the hotel where Susanna arranged to meet him, and confirmed that Robbie would call him when he was ready to go home.  James was astonished to get a call barely ten minutes later when he was choosing potatoes.   
  
“Can you come back to the hotel, James?  Susanna’s happy to talk to you, too.  And it’ll save me having to remember it all and telling you.”  
  
James wanted to ask how his name had come up in the conversation, and just as quickly decided that Robbie would tell him later if he thought it important enough.  Returning his empty basket to the pile, James retraced his journey.

 

***

 

James walked into the hotel cafe, and the first thing that struck him was that Susanna looked nothing like Robbie; he wasn’t entirely sure what he expected, but the petite redhead sitting at the table was not it.  
  
Susanna was eager to talk, almost too eager.  James felt it was the outpouring of a guilty conscience.  
  
“Yes, Val told me about the baby, she knew I’d understand, you see.  If it’s any comfort, I’m sure I’m the only person she told, and I never told a soul.  I’m sorry, Robbie, I did try to get her to tell you – I knew you’d understand and see beyond it.  But she was adamant she couldn’t tell you; she made me promise never to tell you.  Sometimes I still think about those days, you know, and wonder what she’d have done if I’d threatened to tell you if she didn’t tell you before the wedding, but I couldn’t do it – she was so afraid of her mam and gran – and her mam never really forgave her for forcing the family to move north.”  
  
Robbie’s spluttered in disbelief.  “She was sixteen – how on earth could _she_ have forced them to…”  
  
James clamped his hand over Robbie’s forearm, stopping the question; he knew how controlling and manipulative some parents could be – he’d been a victim as well.  “That’s probably the way they chose to see it because they couldn’t face up to the truth – pride and fear of humiliation make people do cruel and rash things – even to their own family.”  
  
“Is that the trainee priest talking or the Detective Sergeant?”  Robbie turned on James.   
  
“Neither,” James responded calmly.  “It’s me.  James.”  
  
He held Robbie’s puzzled gaze and accepted his mumbled apology.  Robbie looked back at Susanna, who was flicking her eyes from one to the other, and apologised again.   
  
Robbie took a deep breath before he spoke again.  “I know her mam liked to be in control, but why was Val scared of her?  Did she say anything?  Why couldn’t she tell me?”  
  
“Robbie, you have to remember how young Val was when it happened.  She was frightened and had seen what happened to some other girls who’d got themselves into trouble.  Her parents kept her within the family and, as far as she was concerned, they had kept her safe.  She loved them and trusted them; unlike a lot of teenagers, she also believed they knew what was best for her.”  Susanna suddenly looked like she was on the edge of tears.  “She told me... her gran kept telling her that she was ‘spoiled goods’ and that would make it hard for her to find the right sort of husband, and her mother made it difficult for her to meet anyone ‘because she couldn’t afford another mistake’.”  Susanna had slipped into a clipped, RP accent; James suspected she was imitating Val’s mother.  “It was horrible, Robbie.  She was so controlled and repeatedly told that she was incapable of looking out for herself.  She told me she only got to go to th _e Midnight Addiction_ concert because her cousins were going and could ‘supervise her’.  The eldest – Joe, I think it was – knew who you were because you went to the record shop where he worked; he knew you were a constable, and promised Val he’d put in a good word if she wanted to see you again.”  
  
James hadn’t taken his eyes off Robbie.  It was obvious that almost everything he was being told was new, and James made note of the way one hand was tightly gripping the edge of the seat of his chair.  Susanna seemed oblivious and kept on talking.  
  
“She was so happy she was marrying you.  She said her mam had said that you were a good man, a solid man who loved and respected her, and she’d better not ruin what might be her one chance at a good marriage by ever mentioning the baby.  I tried to tell her that holding on to such a big secret could be dangerous, that she’d be better off telling you sooner rather than later, but her family had too much influence.  When they went back to Oxford after Lyn was born, I thought she might tell you then, but she couldn’t, or wouldn’t.  I kept telling her that even if you did get angry initially, you’d come around and the two of you would work your way through it together.  It wasn’t ‘til after Mark was born and you started talking about moving the family to Oxford that she fully realised you really would do anything for her.  But by then she felt it was too late to tell you, that the time had passed.  And then you left Newcastle.”  Susanna stopped and bit her lip.  “I’m so sorry I never had the guts to tell you either.”  
  
Robbie sat motionless and pale.  His hand still gripped the seat.  James felt awkward and was at a loss for words.  He felt he understood Val’s reluctance to tell Robbie all too well, and that feeling of having passed a point of no return.

 


	9. Friday - afternoon and evening

 

When Susanna had declined Lewis’s invitation to join them for lunch, James had seen the faint flicker of disappointment on his face.  Then he’d registered the look of relief on Susanna’s face, and a new lightness in her manner, and recognised that she really hadn’t been there for Robbie at all, but purely to relieve her own guilty conscience.  He was glad to see her walk outside.   
  
James had led Robbie around the corner to one of their favourite pubs.  His silence put James slightly on edge; he didn’t expect Robbie to want to talk about it – neither of them was very good at deep and meaningful conversations – but he’d anticipated anger at the very least.  He’d seen Robbie in a low state before, most notably after Monkford’s trial, but even then his silence hadn’t been this complete.  He’d eaten the sandwich James had ordered, and drunk the pint, though James doubted he actually tasted either. 

He followed him inside when he took him home, and Robbie walked straight through to the living area and dropped onto the couch.  
  
“I’d like you to read the letters, please, James.  I can’t accept it was all down to family pressure; there has to be something else.”  
  
James perched on the edge of the seat next to him.  “You’re absolutely sure about this?”  
  
“I need all the facts, James.  I wouldn’t ignore something like those letters if this was a case.  I have to know.”  He turned towards James, his face anxious.  “Could you start now?”  
  
“I, ah... I’d have to go home,” James managed to stammer.  
  
“Could you?”  Robbie raised a hand to his mouth, and his eyes widened.  “Oh, I’m sorry, James, I didn’t mean...”   
  
“I know.  Will you be...?”  
  
“I’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry.  There’s nothing I can do that will change what happened, but the least I can do is make sure it doesn’t get worse for me.  I’ll call you if I think I’m going to struggle.  Just, right now, I think I’d like to be by myself.  Will you come over for breakfast, though?”  
  
James hoped his smile was reassuring as he nodded.

James went home reluctantly and his overnight bag stayed in the boot of the car.

 

***

 

James cleared off his coffee table, sat on the couch, and carefully placed the box in the centre of the table.  If there _was_ anything in there that could bring Robbie some sort of resolution to this heartbreaking situation, he was determined to find it.  
  
He spread out the contents on the table and sorted the letters by their postmark dates.  Then he arranged the photos into chronological order as best he could; some had dates on them, the rest he ordered by trying to guess Lyn’s age.  He drew out the newspaper clipping last.  If he could figure out how Harris, or his mother, had come to be in possession of this, he was certain they’d be a step closer to understanding what the hell was going on.  Harris knew more about the origin of the clipping that he had let on; of that, James was certain.  
  
James read each letter several times carefully.  As he progressed, he was able to match photos to letters from the descriptions Val had given Harris.  He read things he didn’t want to; though he’d never had the opportunity to meet Val, he found some of the contents very odd indeed.  Harris may have been her son, but he was also a stranger, and still a teenager when the letters started.  Val had given him a lot of detailed personal stories about her life with Robbie, and James was beginning to suspect that Harris had somehow manipulated Val in to revealing so much about her life with Robbie.  Frustratingly, James only had one side of the conversation, but there were many instances where she was clearly answering a question, presumably one posed in Harris’s prior letter to her.   
  
Some of the replies had pencilled notes on them.  James assumed it was Harris’s handwriting, but if he’d been truthful – _HA!_ James thought – and his adoptive mother had held onto the letters, then there was a chance, however small, that it could have been hers.  He’d only know for certain if he could get a writing sample from Harris.  He remembered the address Harris had written down, and made a mental note to ask Robbie for it the next day.  What he wouldn’t know was whether he’d ever written any of those comments in his replies to her; were they for his own perverse needs at the time, or were they done recently, perhaps purely to bait Robbie if he read them?  The next question was, if they were to get a reaction, why?  What had Harris hoped to achieve that he hadn’t already done simply by turning up in Oxford?  
  
James returned the last letter to its envelope and to the box.  He’d been frowning for so long that his face had started to hurt.  At no point, in any letter, was there even the smallest suggestion that Val ever told Robbie the truth – so Harris’s statement that he believed Robbie knew had to be an outright lie, didn’t it?  Could he be delusional?  He’d seemed reluctant for Robbie to have the letters initially, but in the end had handed them over with barely a whimper.  _Surely he wouldn’t have presumed that Robbie_ wouldn’t _read the letters._ James rubbed his face in frustration; instead of concrete answers, James was encountering more questions.  
  
James still believed that many of the answers would be found in the identity of Harris’s biological father, but Val had only mentioned him by name once – William – and James still didn’t have enough details from either the letters or what Harris had revealed to start to narrow down the search.  At this rate, he was going to have to ask Harris directly, or... James’s shoulders slumped – he wasn’t getting very far at all.

 

 


	10. Saturday/Sunday

 

James pulled his phone from the bedside table and checked the time once more; it was just after nine.  He now wasn’t expected at Robbie’s until at least noon, even though he would have preferred to see him first thing this morning, just to make sure he was fine.  However, as he’d left Robbie’s the previous afternoon, Robbie had seemingly changed his mind about breakfast, and insisted they both at least attempt to get a decent rest, even if that basically meant lying in bed for most of the morning.  James rolled out of bed with a groan and padded through to the kitchen.  
  
The shoe box sat on the coffee table where he’d left it.  James settled on coffee and a cigarette for breakfast and sank into the couch.  He flicked through the contents of the box once more, giving careful consideration as to whether or not to take it to Robbie’s with him.  In the end, James selected the two letters that had the most annotations and set them aside; he’d need something to compare to the handwriting on Harris’s note.

 

***

 

Robbie looked slightly more rested than he had the previous morning, but the stiffness in his movements indicated either a restless night, or that he’d fallen asleep on the couch – James really hoped it wasn’t the couch.  He wished he could have brought better news with him, but no matter how hard he’d tried to read between the lines, he’d been unable to find even a vague reference as to why Val had never told Robbie, nor why she wrote.  
  
Robbie made a pot of tea, and they sat on the couch.  James had already decided to get what he felt would be the most awkward part of the afternoon out of the way first – comparing the handwriting.  While he wanted to avoid Robbie reading any part of the letters if he didn’t have to, this was going to be the quickest way to be certain.  He sincerely hoped Robbie wouldn’t want to see what was written unless it was absolutely necessary or unavoidable – the comments ranged from innocuous and immature, through to cruel and offensive.  
  
“D’you have the note Harris gave you, the one with his ‘friends’ address?”  James doubted the friend story, and felt that the identity of Harris’s contact would no doubt yield more answers.   
  
“Aye, it’s here.”  Robbie retrieved his wallet and pulled out the neatly folded piece of paper.  “What d’you want it for?”  
  
James didn’t answer immediately, carefully unfolding the note.  His first reaction was relief when he realised he wouldn’t have to explain about the notes, and he narrowly avoided exclaiming out loud.  His second, greater reaction was disappointment; he wasn’t going to get his answer so easily – the letters had been annotated with cursive writing in pencil while the address was written in block letters in pen.  It was possible that a forensic handwriting expert could make a better comparison, but James knew they had no grounds to authorise the necessary procedures.  James noted with a frown that it _was_ only an address; Harris hadn’t even given them a first name.  It wasn’t a huge problem; with police resources at his disposal, it would be a matter of minutes for James to match a name to the address – except he was on leave – but it again raised the question of what Harris was hiding.  James remembered Robbie was waiting for an answer.  
  
“I, er, I didn’t see it when he gave it to you.  I wondered if it would be familiar.  It’s not.”  He hand the paper back, aware of Robbie’s scrutiny.  Before Robbie could ask him anything further, James recounted his examination of the letters.  
  
James felt the weight of Robbie’s disappointment when he’d told him how little he’d uncovered.   
  
“Nothing?”  
  
“Nothing to add to what Harris has already told you, no clue as to why Val didn’t tell you, no hint as to why she wrote the letters.”  
  
“Then what the bloody hell did she write?   You’re not going to tell me there’s nothing at all in those letters – I know what kind of letter writer Val was.  She always wrote long, newsy letters.”   
  
James held his gaze.  “Why do you want to know?  What good can come of it?”  
  
“Please, James.”  
  
James thought of the contents of one letter in particular.  He saw no reason why Val would lie, but it had been by far the oddest of them all.  He’d spent quite some time the previous night trying to decide whether or not to tell Robbie about it, and finally made his decision in that moment.  
  
James swallowed down his nervousness.  “There was one...  Could you tell me what it was like after Mark was born?”  
  
Robbie’s frown was what he expected.  “Why?”  
  
“Do you trust me?” James whispered.  
  
Robbie lay back against the couch and stared at a point on the far wall.  “The first year was hellish.  Val had – we called it the ‘baby blues’, but I suppose it was postnatal depression – she swung from lavishing attention on Mark to almost ignoring him beyond his basic needs.  Our Lyn was only a toddler and I was in Vice.  Even though things did get a bit better as Mark got older, it was part of the reason I was okay with moving to Oxford when Val asked me to think about it.  Val’s mum had stayed with us on and off during those early years, and had also voiced the idea a number of times.  I had to admit it made sense; after all, most of Val’s family was here.  If we hadn’t moved I’d hate to think how things might have been.  I’d lost me dad a couple of months before Mark was born and mam never really got over it; she tried to help out but then she got… ill, so it was just me and Val.  She eventually moved in with me brother.”  He frowned deeply and looked at James.  “Did Val tell _him_ about that?”  James nodded sadly.  He stayed silent as Robbie’s eyes searched his face.  “What else, James?  Spit it out.”  
  
James rubbed his hands over his face.  “In the same letter, she also wrote that she found it hard when Mark was born because she started wondering how alike the two boys were, and she said she’d given him Kenneth for his middle name because it was the name she would have given Carl if it had been possible to keep him.”  
  
James sat quietly, watching Robbie’s reaction.  “Kenneth was her grandfather’s name,” Robbie eventually whispered.  “Why?  Why on earth would she write about that – any of it?”  
  
James had no words to offer.  He didn’t dare give voice to his thought that Val must have felt very alone at that time to confide something so personal to a virtual stranger – whether he was her blood or not – nor would he reveal that the letter was dated about a month after the death of Chief Inspector Morse.  James had barely been able to begin to imagine how far into himself he might go if Robbie were to die suddenly, and had wondered how Robbie had reacted to Morse’s death.  He looked down to where Robbie’s hands were gripping his knees tightly, and slipped a hand over the one nearest to him.  
  
“Was there anything else like that?” Robbie finally asked.   
  
“No, that was the... the most perplexing letter.  The rest were...  Mostly she talked about Lyn and Mark, books she’d read, holidays, things you did as a family.  They were an odd assortment of letters.  You’re mentioned quite a bit in the first three, then there’s just the odd reference.  There’s twenty altogether; the last was dated July 2002.”  
  
“Damn it,” Robbie spat out, abruptly pushing himself to his feet.  He began to pace.  “If he knows about Lyn and Mark...  there’s nothing to say he won’t try to find them and contact them.”  James watched him nervously, and he looked at James uncertainly.  “I have to be the one to tell them about this, not that toad.  I won’t have them hearing about their mam from a total stranger.”     
  
He stepped towards the telephone, but James reached for his wrist as he walked past, and pulled him back down onto the couch.  Holding his wrist firmly to keep him on the couch, James gently held his chin to make Robbie look him in the eye.  “You’re in shock and need to take some time to recover.  If you get on the phone to Lyn now, like this, you’re not going to be helping anyone, least of all her.”  
  
Robbie’s shoulders sagged, and he dropped his head against James’s shoulder.  James wrapped his arms around him and held him there.  As Robbie rested against him, James tried to concentrate on what would happen next.  Would Robbie want or need him nearby when he told Lyn?  Robbie had headed straight for the phone, but James felt it would be better if he spoke to her face to face.  He had no idea how he would tell Mark other than by phone, unless Lyn had Skype.  James suspected the same questions were flying around Robbie’s mind as well.   
  
James considered and discarded the idea of going over the letters again.  He was confident he hadn’t overlooked anything.  
  
All he could do now was wait for Robbie’s decision.  He drew him a little closer.

 

***

 

As night drew in, James went out for takeaway so Robbie could call Lyn in private.  Like James, he’d decided that he needed to physically be with Lyn when he told her.  It had been a while since his last visit to Manchester and, as Lyn was always eager to see him, he didn’t envisage any difficulty or awkward questions in arranging a visit on short notice.  
  
“It’ll be lovely, Dad.  It’s a pity you didn’t mention your leave earlier; Tim could have taken a few days off, too.  Is James on holiday as well?” she asked curiously.  
  
“Er, yes, he is.”   
  
“Don’t suppose there’s any chance you could convince him to come up with you this time?  I’ve spoken to him at least a dozen times this year alone; it’d be nice to finally be able to put a face to the name..”  
  
“If that’s all you want, I’ll send you a photo.”  
  
“Dad, it’s not the same thing and you know it.”   He smiled at the put-on petulance in her voice.  “D’you know, just the other day, Thom asked me if James was your imaginary friend.”  
  
Robbie laughed in disbelief.  
  
“Laugh away.  You talk about James every time you’re here but Thom’s never seen him.  What’s he supposed to think?  Hmmm?”  
  
“Where would he sleep, love?  I know you’ve only got the one spare bed.”  
  
“We could borrow Tim’s parents’ folding bed.  There’s enough space in the spare room to set it up.  If you’d be okay with sharing a room, that is,” she added cautiously.  
  
While he’d relied heavily on James’s support so far, Robbie hadn’t really anticipated Lyn and Mark becoming involved.  He had always hoped James and Lyn would meet one day, but he’d always pictured it happening at Easter or Christmas; lobbing James into the middle of a family... drama... had never been on the agenda.  But the more he thought about being by himself at Lyn’s, the tighter the feeling in his chest became.  He’d ask James, let him make the choice.  
  
“All right, love, let me talk to James.  I’ll let you know.”  
  
He spoke to James as soon as he arrived back with their meal.  
  
“I’m sorted for Lyn’s, going up Monday for a couple of nights.  She didn’t ask too many questions, thank God; I think she thinks Innocent’s bullied me into taking a holiday.  She asked if you’d come up this time; she was pretty insistent on it.  This isn’t the way I ever wanted you two to meet – I’d always thought Christmas or Easter would be nice, a family event – and I know this isn’t your…”  
  
“Your car or mine?” James asked with a gentle smile.  
  
Robbie didn’t have the words to adequately thank James; he knew he had done so, however, by the size of James’s grin when he hugged him in the middle of the kitchen.  
  
Robbie asked James if he would stay with him overnight.  The revelations from the letters, and the prospect of telling Lyn, had left him more shaken than he’d initially admitted to himself, and the thought of being alone again had left him feeling very low.  He’d regretted not asking James to stay the previous two nights, as much as he really had wanted him there; he hadn’t wanted James to feel obliged, or that he was ‘babysitting’ him – James deserved far more than that.  When James readily agreed to stay, and admitted he had an overnight bag in the car, it was difficult to say who wore the greater smile.

 

 

**********

 

 

They spent a lazy Sunday in front of the telly. It had been decided that they would leave Oxford before seven on the Monday morning, so James had headed to his flat that morning, packed a bag, and returned to Robbie’s to spend the night once again.   
  
James wriggled around on the couch trying to make a more comfortable spot for himself.  The old couch had moulded perfectly when he curled up, and he could easily and comfortably shove his feet between the arm and the cushion; this couch refused to give way so readily.  James’s irritation wasn’t helped by Robbie’s tendency to chuckle and nudge him every time he started squirming.  
  
"When and how, exactly, did you choose this couch?" James asked with a growl, as his frustration at his inability to make the couch conform reached its limit.  He’d only encountered a modern couch this unyielding once before.  
  
Robbie kept his eyes fixed on the telly.  "I didn't... not really.  Lyn had been looking for a new couch for their place.  She sent me an email suggesting that maybe it was time for me to look at replacing my old one.  She'd tried out quite a few, and sent me pictures of some she thought I might like, and told me where she'd seen them.  I thought the idea had merit; I liked this one, had a look at it in the shop and ordered it."  
  
James eyed him carefully.  "Did Lyn ever mention looking at sofa beds?"  
  
"No.  Why?"  Robbie frowned at him, his eyes darting back to the telly.  
  
James stood and tugged at Robbie's elbow to make him stand, which he did with a reluctant groan.  James pulled off the cushions and examined the couch.  
  
He humpfed and scowled.  “I was sure...”  
  
Robbie folded his arms and stared at him.  “I’m not bloody senile, James.  I do know the difference between a couch and a sofa bed.  Now get those cushions back on – I’m missing the match.”


	11. Monday/Tuesday

 

They took their time on the drive up to Manchester.  Robbie was torn between wanting to see Lyn and the family, and dreading her reaction to what he had to tell her.  He hadn’t felt like talking and chose to drive first; they’d taken his car.  James had also been silent, seemingly content to stare out the window and chose which music they listened to.  It could have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t.   
  
When they reached Stafford, they stopped for coffee – and so James could have a cigarette.  They sat outdoors, in the sun and sheltered from the breeze by a small wall.  Robbie tipped his head back, letting the sun’s warmth lift his mood.  
  
“I’m not going to say anything about ‘him’ until tomorrow night,” he said quietly.  He lowered his gaze to James, squinting against the glare.  “I’d like you and Lyn – and Tim – to have a chance to get to know each other before I drop that on her.  And I want to spend a bit of one-on-one time with Thom.”  
  
James nodded his understanding and smiled reassuringly.  
  
Robbie’s phone rang as they were walking back to the car.  
  
“It’s Innocent.”  Robbie stepped to one side, leaving the footpath clear, and James leant against the wall beside him, close enough to listen.  
  
“Lewis, I wanted to let you know the outcome of this Harris business.  After I met with him, he withdrew the allegation of improper conduct but still wanted to pursue the intimidation accusation.  I informed him that we were conducting an investigation into the delivery of his letter, and how it managed to bypass the standard procedures and security checks.  Interestingly, he backed down rather quickly.  Sadly, we’ve had to take disciplinary action against the constable who arranged for the delivery of Mr Harris’s letter to the ACC – he’s admitted Harris bribed him.  When officers went to the hotel today to arrest Harris, he’d already checked out, and the only address the hotel had for him is in Australia.  The ACC’s not pursuing it any further at the moment – unless you have a UK address for him?”  
  
“No, Ma’am.”  Robbie hated lying to Innocent, but if the address Harris had given him did yield another, more local, address for Harris, then that could lead to an arrest; an arrest would lead to a charge, which in turn would lead to an investigation – and that risked making Val’s secret a matter of record.  That was a possible outcome that didn’t please Robbie.  
  
“Very well.”  Her matter-of-fact tone suggested that his response was what she’d expected.  “Do make the most of your leave, Robbie.  Oh, and let James know, too, please.  No sense in my interrupting both of you.”  
  
The connection was broken before Robbie could say another word.  He looked at James.  James didn’t have to say a word for Robbie to know he understood why Robbie had lied.  
  
“At least that’s one less thing to worry about.”

 

***

 

They arrived at Lyn’s well before lunch.  Robbie had barely enough time to introduce James to Lyn before they heard Thom thumping up the hallway, joyfully yelling, “Grampa, grampa, grampa!”  To Robbie’s amusement, Thom stopped dead when he saw James and tipped his head to one side.  Lyn giggled as James mimicked the movement and crouched down to Thom’s height.   
  
“Thom, this is Grandpa’s friend, James.”  
  
With one hand keeping a comforting grip on Robbie’s jeans, Thom stepped forward and carefully poked James’s arm.  Wide-eyed Thom turned to Lyn.   
  
“Mama.  Is real,” he said in an awed whisper.  
  
Lyn grinned at Robbie.  “See?  What did I tell you?”  
  
James looked from one to the other, clearly puzzled.  
  
“I’ll explain later,” said Robbie, ruffling Thom’s head.  
  
Unexpectedly, Thom grabbed James’s hand and tugged him towards the back door.  Just managing to stop himself toppling forwards, James stood clumsily and let himself be led.  He glanced back at Robbie, who smiled happily at him and waved him on.  Robbie drew Lyn in to a hug.   
  
“It’s lovely to see you again, pet,” he murmured fondly.  “Thanks for having us on such short notice.”  
  
Letting her go, he stooped and picked up both bags, shushing Lyn’s protest.  
  
“I’ll pop these upstairs.  Any chance of a cuppa for your old man?”  
  
  
  
They found James in the back garden, pushing Thom on the swing.  The sight of a packet of Chocolate HobNobs lured Thom onto Robbie’s lap, and James joined them on the patio.

 

***

 

Dinner was a casual affair; after a quick phone call from Lyn, Tim had arrived home shortly after six with fish and chips for everyone.  James felt at ease with Tim immediately and could see why Robbie spoke well of him.  It was a welcoming home and James was glad he’d come, even though he knew things would be very different the following evening.  He disciplined himself to push all thoughts of Harris, and their purpose for being at Lyn’s, to the back of his mind.  
  
After Thom had gone to bed, under great protest, Robbie had announced that he was going to follow his grandson’s example.    
  
“Things were a bit hectic last week,” he explained to Lyn, trying and failing to meet her eye – he hated being less than honest with her.  “I’ve missed a bit of sleep, and the drive up and Thom have left me knackered.  A decent night’s sleep’ll see me right.”  With a kiss for Lyn, he took himself upstairs, glancing back as James watched him climb the stairs.  James saw the sadness in his eyes and understood.  
  
James waited until he heard the shower stop, then made his own excuses.  
  
“I’d better make a move, too.  The past week was… taxing… and I won’t be fit company in the morning if I stay up much longer.”  James pushed himself to his feet.  “Thank you again for inviting me.”  As he walked past her chair, Lyn stopped him by gently grabbing his wrist.  
  
“James,” she asked quietly, glancing towards the stairs.  “Is everything okay with Dad?  He seems a bit… distant, not his usual self.”  
  
James thought quickly, and hoped she wouldn’t see his response for the deflection it was.  
  
“If you’re worried about his health, don’t be – I suspect he’s healthier than me.  Smoker, remember.”  James pointed at his cigarettes on top of the bookshelf, where he’d put them well out of Thom’s way.  For a brief moment he considered slipping out the back for a quick smoke, dismissing the thought with a slight shake of his head.   
  
Since the arrival of the letter, James’s evening cigarette count had dropped significantly.  James had never forgotten Fiona telling him how disgusting he’d smelt the one time he’d gone to her bed.  He’d sworn he’d never let that happen with anyone again, though the opportunity to test his resolution had never arrived until that first night with Robbie’s new couch.  It was only because Robbie’s need had been greater than James’s nicotine craving that he hadn’t smoked that night, and now that his only option at Robbie’s seemed to be to share his bed – _at least until the couch is worn in a bit_ , he thought reluctantly – James had made a conscious decision to avoid smoking in the evenings.  
  
As he showered, James puzzled over the new couch.  Yes, he had complained about the old couch making his back ache, but that had been a one-off, not part of a pattern.  And, since James did sleep over quite frequently, why hadn’t Robbie considered a sofa bed?  He had enough space in his living area.  The only conclusion James reached, and it seemed far-fetched, was that Robbie had deliberately picked a very firm couch.  But why?   
  
James decided not to think about it any more.  Over-thinking had caused him to behave foolishly the previous night; he could have kicked himself after he pulled the cushions off.   If it had turned out to be a sofa bed he would have put Robbie, and himself, in an awkward spot.  The truth was, James was exactly where he wanted to be, yet never dared hoped he would be.  To feel the warmth of Robbie next to him was something he’d only ever fantasised about, and he swore to himself he wouldn’t say or do anything to jeopardise that again.  
  
Robbie was snoring softly when James quietly entered the room they were sharing.  The foldaway bed had been made up and pushed against the far wall, presumably by Lyn to give them both some space.  He watched Robbie as he slept.  The bed was smaller than Robbie’s, but there was room for James, as Robbie was curled up on one half only.  James made up his mind, and carefully slipped under the covers next to Robbie.

 

***

 

James woke to find Robbie staring at him.  
  
“You been there all night?” Robbie whispered, and smiled as James nodded.  “Thank you.”   
  
When Robbie went to the bathroom, James made the bed, and rumpled the bedding on the foldaway – there was no point in attracting awkward questions if you could avoid them.  
  
Tim had already left for work by the time James made it downstairs, and he listened to Robbie and Lyn as they planned the day.  Although his voice and manner belied it, James could see the tension and unease in Robbie’s face and body; he could see the strain in Robbie’s eyes and James knew he was dreading this evening.  James hoped he himself was ready for whatever was to come.

 

***

 

Lyn had watched her dad carefully all day.  James had observed her studying him when he played with Thom and his guard was down, and he had the feeling that she was fighting very hard not to ask him why he was really there.  He’d also noted a few odd looks cast in his direction, and puzzled over those – he was fairly confident he hadn’t said or done anything… unusual.  She seemed to relax more towards evening, or it may have simply been that Thom’s demands took all her attention.   
  
James helped Tim clear away after dinner, while Robbie and Lyn put Thom to bed.  When they were all back in the living room, Robbie sat next to Lyn, instead of in the armchair he’d been using since they arrived.   
  
James watched Lyn’s entire body language change as Robbie turned to her and held one of her hands between his own.  
  
“There is a reason I wanted to come and see you, love.  Stay, Tim, please.”  Tim had started to stand.  “S’probably best you hear this too.”  
  
Lyn’s eyes grew wider, and her gazed flicked between Robbie and James.  
  
“There’s no easy way to tell you this, pet, but... your mam had a wee boy when she was barely sixteen.  You’ve got an older half-brother.”  
  
Lyn gasped and pulled her hand out of Robbie’s.  
  
“I know, love,” Robbie said soothingly, though his voice quavered.  “It was a hell of a shock to me too.”  
  
“How did you find out?” Lyn was staring at her dad in horror and had begun to tremble.  Tim crouched down beside her, his head swivelling between Lyn, Robbie and James.  
  
Robbie had frozen, his eyes fixed on Lyn.  “What did you say?” he breathed.  
  
Lyn clutched at Tim’s hand.  “How did you...?”  
  
“You knew?”  Even James shrank at the accusation in Robbie’s voice.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dad, you were never supposed...”  Lyn covered her face with her hands.   
  
James was torn.  His every instinct was to comfort Robbie, as Tim was comforting Lyn, but he couldn’t move, not yet.   
  
“How?”  Robbie’s voice was hard and harsh.   
  
James could see that Lyn was fighting hard not to fall apart.  James returned his attention to Robbie as Lyn began to speak haltingly.  
  
“It was my final year at uni; I was home after autumn term.  I thought I heard Mum and Gran arguing, and I went downstairs to see what was going on.  I could hear them in the living room and... I listened at the door.  I was fed up with Gran bullying Mum and if she was doing it again I was ready to have a go at her.  There was letter and some photos spread out on the dining table – and I got nosey and had a look.”  She took deep breath, her head downcast.  James found himself leaning closer so that he could hear what she was saying.  “I thought it was Mark in the photos at first, and I read the letter, thinking it was from one of Mum’s aunties – you know Mum always let us read them.  But it wasn’t.  Next thing I knew, Gran had snatched it out of my hands; she was furious and started going on at Mum, saying things like, ‘might as well tell her, she’ll only keep asking questions, and if you don’t answer them she’ll ask Robert’.  Mum started crying... Oh, Dad, her face when Gran mentioned you – I just knew you didn’t know.  Gran told me about it, him.  She swore me to secrecy.  Said I’d only be hurting you and mum if I said anything.  She didn’t have to though; seeing Mum like that, there was no way I was ever going to tell you.”  She reached across to touch his hand and flinched as he pulled way.  “I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered.  “I never meant to hurt you.”  
  
“Does Mark know?” Robbie murmured flatly.  His head was low.  
  
Lyn was silent.  
  
Robbie lifted his head to look at her.  “Does Mark know?” he repeated slowly and heavily.  
  
“I don’t think so, but I honestly don’t know, Dad.  Gran was a bit... well, odd, about it all.  I heard her threaten to tell you anyway, and I thought Mum was going to collapse.  I’m sorry, Dad.  I don’t know what else to say.  When Gran moved away, I thought it would all be buried again.”  
  
Robbie stood, his head bowed.  Suddenly aged and pale, he walked heavily towards the door, dragging his keys off the hall table as he passed.  
  
“Where are you going?”  James rose and was at his side in a few long strides; he glanced back into the living room.  Lyn hadn’t moved, staring at the floor in front of her feet, Tim now beside her on the couch.  Robbie gripped the door handle, and James tugged his hand away.  He held Robbie’s fingers lightly between his own.  
  
“Where are you going?” he asked again gently.  
  
“Away.  Out.  Home?”  His voice was dull and heavy, the greyness a match to the pallor of his skin.  
  
“It’s late; too late to head back to Oxford.  Tomorrow.  I’ll drive you home tomorrow.”  
  
Robbie turned to James, who barely held back a gasp at the emptiness in his eyes.  When he spoke, Robbie’s voice was a ragged whisper.  
  
“I can’t stay here, James; not tonight.  I have to get away.”  
  
Never letting go of his fingers, James reached across with his other hand and took the keys from Robbie.  He led Robbie to the stairs and gently pushed him until he was sitting down.  
  
“Sit here.  I’ll be as quick as I can.”  
  
Robbie gazed up at him, and James’s heart ached at the trust and submission in his eyes.  
  
James took his phone from his pocket.  He mentally willed Google to work faster as he tried to locate a reasonable hotel nearby; under different circumstances he would have asked Lyn, but he felt that that would be a betrayal of Robbie’s trust.  Lyn had just shattered him; James briefly wondered if Robbie would be able to fully trust her ever again.  
  
James could hear Lyn’s muffled sobs in the living room.  Tim walked silently past him and Robbie and headed up the stairs.  James cursed quietly as the search results seemed to take forever to load.  
  
Tim, having seemingly guessed James’s intentions, appeared at the top of the stairs with their bags.  James nodded once, and returned to his searching.  Tim reached the bottom of the stairs and placed the bags on the floor.  
  
“The Arora on Princess Street’s probably your best option.  They’ve got good-sized double rooms, two beds, if that's what you're after,” he said softly.  “It’s where the office puts up London-based staff if we need them up here for anything.”  
  
James thanked him quietly, never taking his eyes off Robbie, and entered the new search details.  Giving Robbie’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he walked through to the kitchen to make his call.

 

 

*****

 

 

Robbie sat on the edge of the bed as James moved about the room, sorting their bags and trying to organise Robbie to take a shower to relax himself, and go to bed.   
  
“Do you think they’ve been laughing at me all these years?” Robbie muttered.  “Val’s family?  Her mother?”  
  
“I doubt they were laughing, Robbie.”  James switched the bedside lamps on and the overhead lights off.  “More likely, they’ve been dreading the day you might find out.”  James sat next to him, their thighs brushing together.  “I understand how…”  
  
Robbie turned on James, his voice low and cold.  “How could you understand, James?  You’ve never been married, never had a long-term relationship – how could you possibly understand what it might feel like to be... betrayed like this?”  
  
“That’s not quite right, sir.”  James spoke calmly and forced himself not to react.  
  
Robbie pulled up short.  “What?”  
  
“I’ve been with you all these years.  I don’t have to imagine how I’d feel if I were to discover you’d kept a secret of that magnitude from me.  And I know how you reacted when I tried to keep a crucial part of my past hidden from you.”  
  
“James, I…”  Robbie looked ashamed, and James saw the apology in his eyes.  
  
“Robbie.”  James squeezed his leg just above the knee.  “You are... you’re effectively grieving.  You’re going to say things....  I really _do_ understand.”  
  
They sat quietly for a few minutes before James stood up slowly.  “Go and have that shower, you’ll feel better for it.  Shall I make some tea for after?”  
  
“No, thanks, not for me, James.  I think I’ll just turn in when I’m done.”  
  
James put the kettle down, and sank onto the second bed as Robbie headed into the bathroom.  At the sound of the shower running, he opened his own bag and pulled out what he needed.  He spun towards the bathroom door when the water went off with a thump.  
  
Robbie stood in the doorway, his face a mixture of anger and puzzlement.  
  
“Why the hell did Lyn have to get dragged into it all?  If Val couldn’t tell me...?”  
  
James responded quickly.  “You heard Lyn; she’d already read the letter, and it wasn’t Val who gave her the details, it was her grandmother.  Val’s only mistake was leaving the letter on the table.  She couldn’t have known Lyn was going to come down and see it.  You’ve no way of knowing why she and her mother were in the living room and not the kitchen.  Had they been in there, Lyn would probably have been none the wiser until today.”  
  
Robbie lost his fight.  “It all keeps coming back to that bloody woman and her interference.  If Val had only told me in the beginning...”  
  
James walked over to where Robbie was slumped against the door frame.  Taking hold of his elbow, he guided him back to the bed and sat next to him, resting one hand on his shoulder.  
  
“She was nineteen when you met,” he said softly.  
  
“She wasn’t a child, James.”  
  
“Not to you.”  
  
“Eh?”  
  
James took a slow, deep breath.  “Susanna said Val was scared of her mother and grandmother.  Does that sound like an adult response to you?  Lyn was ready to have a go at her grandmother, presumably because she knew her mum wouldn’t.  She picked up on her mother’s fear.”  
  
Robbie stared, stony-faced.  
  
“Not all parents are loving and supportive, Robbie.  You know that; we see it regularly.”  
  
“Val was never abused.”  
  
“Wasn’t she?” James asked gently.  “Open your eyes, Robbie – you’re letting your anger get in the way.  An unwed teenage mother, sent away to have her baby in secret, forbidden to ever speak of the child she bore.  Did you hear what Lyn said – I know you listened, but did you hear?  Your mother-in-law was controlling and most likely extremely manipulative.”  
  
Robbie barked a laugh.  “She was bloody controlling, all right.  I hated the nights I got home to find her in the house if Val had been called in to work of an evening.”  
  
It was James’s turn to study Robbie intently.  
  
“Okay, so when we met, she was very much under her mum’s control.”  Robbie conceded James’s point.  “But she broke out of that – she started writing the letters for one thing – so why couldn’t she tell me then?  Surely she knew by then I wouldn’t walk out or do anything drastic?”  
  
James carefully considered Robbie’s question, and how much he was personally ready to talk about.  He spoke quietly.  
  
“I know what it’s like to grow up with a parent who constantly tells you you’re incapable of making decisions, that you need to listen and obey if you want to achieve any sort of happiness in life, whose sparse praise is based on how well you did what they told you.  I know what it’s like to do everything you can to gather up those moments of ‘affirmation’.  It’s all about control – and their fear.  I was in my final year at school before I finally learnt and accepted that I _could_ take control of my life, that I had, in fact, been bullied and manipulated for years because my… because my father was essentially a coward who needed to control someone, and his only son was the perfect victim.”  
  
Robbie opened his mouth; James silenced him with a squeeze to the shoulder.  
  
“But, sometimes, there are things that have been so deeply… implanted… that, no matter how much you tell yourself, _‘it’s not my fault’, ‘it’s not a crime’, ‘I’ve done nothing wrong’,_ no matter how much you trust another person, the thought of uttering the words – revealing the... secret – scares the hell out of you, and you can’t do it.  I think, maybe... that’s what it was like for Val; that, at some point, she wanted to tell you but couldn’t get past that fear, and so convinced herself that ‘it was for the best’ to say nothing.”  
  
Robbie’s silence was complete.  James stared down at his feet.  The unsynchronised ticking of watches and the heater slowly filled the room.  
  
Robbie’s hand gripped James’s knee.  
  
“You know you can tell me anything, James, don’t you?” he whispered.  Robbie had leant in closer to James and his chin touched James’s shoulder.  James suppressed a shiver.  
  
He gave a tiny nod.  “Unfortunately, knowing I can and getting past my own mental barriers are two different things.  The fear response can be a crippling monster.”  
  
Robbie wrapped his arm around James’s shoulder and held him close, his lips brushing past James’s ear.  James closed his eyes and let himself relax into the embrace.  He hoped Robbie was thinking of Val.

 


	12. Wednesday

 

James woke with a start, only to find Robbie’s back pressed against his own.  He took a moment to orient himself.  They’d definitely gone to sleep in separate beds; Robbie had been concerned that, despite being exhausted, he would spend much of the night tossing and turning, and was insistent that one of them get a good night’s sleep for the drive home.  James had wanted to tell him that he would hold him until he fell asleep, but the words wouldn’t come out.  James had laid awake and watched Robbie for over an hour, as he had indeed fidgeted and rolled in the bed, wanting nothing more than to climb in beside him, yet knowing that the best thing he could do for Robbie at that moment was respect his wishes. He had no idea what the time was or when Robbie had crept into his bed.  He wasn’t bothered by it; quite the opposite in fact.  He stretched in an attempt to reach his phone to check the time without breaking the contact with Robbie.  
  
“It’s half-four,” Robbie mumbled.  “Go back to sleep.”  
  
James suppressed a giggle, closed his eyes and relaxed, savouring the contact.

 

***

 

“Full English?” James murmured.  
  
“Wha–?”  Robbie rolled over to find James sitting up holding a laminated page.  
  
“Breakfast.  Would you like a Full English?  They do room service.”  
  
With a grunt, Robbie pushed himself up against the bed head.   
  
“Not for me, James.  Just a cup of tea...”  He turned slowly to stare at James, who had tsked loudly.  
  
“You barely touched dinner last night – don’t think I didn’t notice how much you sneaked onto Thom’s plate – not eating isn’t going to help anyone.”  He spoke kindly but firmly.  “And if I think there’s the slightest possibility you might lose concentration, you are _not_ driving today – and I _will_ talk or sing all the way home.”  
  
The set of James’s jaw told Robbie he wasn’t making an idle threat.  “Okay.”  He agreed with a sigh.  “But I want tea, not coffee.”  
  
James reached for the phone with a happy, satisfied smile.

 

***

 

Over breakfast, Robbie debated with himself whether they should head straight back home or return to Lyn’s first.  He felt that there was some need to apologise to her, but he wasn’t quite ready to face her again.  The knowledge that his own daughter could deceive him like that had been a shock; if she could conceal the truth of a half-brother, what else could she hide from him?  Whether it was intuitive, or simply because Robbie had barely said two words after coming out of the bathroom, James had been reserved, using the silence to read the paper that arrived with their meal.   
  
They checked out just before ten, and the receptionist handed James an envelope.  
  
“This was dropped off by a young woman this morning, sir.”  
  
Robbie looked across as James accepted the pale blue envelope, which bore his name in a small, neat script, and huffed softly.  “That’s our Lyn’s handwriting.”  
  
James offered it to him; Robbie started to reach out his hand, taking a step back as though he’d received a small shock.  
  
“She’s addressed it to you for a reason, James.  I trust you to decide if it’s something I need to know.”  
 _  
_James considered the envelope for a moment.  He looked at Robbie, who was staring at his shoes.  Deciding that perhaps now wasn’t the best time, James folded the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans.

 

***

 

As they approached Oxford, Robbie asked James to stay with him.  “I really don’t want to be by myself.”  
  
After his introspective morning, James had been expecting Robbie’s request, and would have been worried if Robbie had dropped him at his flat and headed home alone.   
  
“I’ll need to pick up some clean clothes.”   
  
Robbie drove straight to James’s flat and quietly followed him in.   
  
James stood in the bedroom and listened as Robbie headed to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water.  Robbie had given no indication of how long he wanted or expected James to stay, leaving James with the quandary of choosing how much to pack.  He settled on taking enough to see him through to the end of their leave, and he didn’t need an abundance of casual clothes, not if he was only seeing Robbie during that time.  If it became necessary to dress up for anything, he would just have to come back and collect it separately.  He pulled his rucksack from the top of the wardrobe, and began to pack an assortment of clothes.  
  
“Will you bring your guitar?”  Robbie was leaning in the doorway, his arms folded loosely across his chest.  He was gazing idly towards the corner where James’s guitar case rested against the wall.  
  
“I hadn’t intended to, but I can if you’d like.”  
  
“Might be nice to hear something different; yeah, I’d like you to.”  
  
It didn’t take James long to pack, and they were soon on their way.  
  
When they arrived at the flat, Robbie immediately headed to the bedroom to make room for James’s clothes in the wardrobe, before rearranging the contents of the bathroom cabinet.   
  
James paused in his unpacking when Robbie went upstairs to collect Monty from his neighbour, Aggie.  He took the envelope from his pocket and studied it.  He’d been very conscious of it during the drive home, but until now he hadn’t had a chance to look at it.  Keeping one ear out for Robbie’s return, James opened the envelope; he noticed his hand shook slightly.  
  
There were two handwritten letters inside: the first was from Lyn, on paper which matched the envelope; the second was an unfinished letter from Val, written on lined bank paper.  The top edge was ragged, as though it had been torn carelessly from the pad.  Lyn’s started with a short note to him – _James, I’m sorry you’ve been caught up in this, and I’m sorry to draw you in deeper, but could you please make sure Dad’s not alone when he reads these.  I need to know he’s going to be okay_ – and James noted that some of the ink was smudged, as though the paper had got wet.  _Probably tears_ , James thought sadly.  
  
James read both of them twice, trying to determine the best course of action.  “Oh, Lyn.”  He exhaled heavily and skimmed over Val’s letter once more, relieved he hadn’t opened the envelope in front of Robbie. ~~~~  
  
The clunk of the door closing announced Robbie’s return, and it was swiftly followed by the soft thump of Monty landing on the worktop.  James carefully refolded the letters and put them back into his pocket.  He listened to Robbie moving around the kitchen, going through the fridge and cabinets, and muttering affectionately at Monty to “get out of it, you daft cat”.  
  
James quickly put the last of his clothes away and tucked his rucksack into an empty space on the floor of the wardrobe; his guitar was resting safely in a corner of the living room. When he walked into the kitchen, he found Robbie making tea; a notepad and covered plate of sandwiches sat next to the kettle.  Robbie turned as James approached him.  James pointed at the sandwiches.  
  
“Aggie’s a kind soul, but she’s convinced I can’t take care of meself – it’s not the first time she’s done somethin’ like that.  But it is past lunch time, and it means not having to make anything, so I don’t really mind.”  
  
James picked up the notepad; it was the beginning of a shopping list.  He looked at Robbie, who glanced away from pouring the water into the teapot.   
  
“Add whatever you think you might want, James.  The place is pretty bare, and I think we might need more than eggs, beans and bread.”  James was relieved that Robbie seemed to be focusing on the everyday practicalities, but he was also concerned that he might be heading into denial.  James’s hand traced the outline of the envelope in his pocket, and he decided it could wait a little longer.

 

***

 

Robbie started to stack the few dishes they’d used into the sink.  James gently pulled him by his elbow over to the couch and made him sit down.  Robbie went without question or protest.  James took the envelope from his pocket once again, and sat next to Robbie.  
  
“There are two letters in here.  I’ve read them, and you need to know what’s in here.”  Robbie held out his hand, but James kept the envelope just out of reach.  “Let me read them to you.”  James didn’t really want to read them, but he needed to know what Robbie reacted to, and how, and he felt this was the only way he could do that effectively.  Robbie’s eyes narrowed and deep furrows cut across his brow.  “Please, Robbie.  Trust me.”   
  
Robbie took several deep breaths.  He hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, and his head hung low.   
  
“Go on,” he whispered.  
  
James took a deep breath and, skipping the short note to him, began:  
  
 _“Dear Dad_  
  
 _I’m sorry this has happened. For years after Mum died, I kept expecting you to tell me you’d found out, but when you didn’t, and with so many years gone by, I thought it was buried.  Last night was a horrid shock for both of us._  
  
 _I’m enclosing a letter Mum was writing to you before she died.  I found it when Gran and I were packing up Mum’s clothes.  I knew if Gran had seen it, she would have torn it up or burnt it.  There were a few times I thought about doing that too._  
  
 _I held onto it because I was almost certain you were going to find out one day soon and, when you did, it was important that you knew what Mum was going to tell you.  I couldn’t give it to you before, because then you would know, and I didn’t want to be the one to reveal that part of Mum’s past.  So I put it away, safely hidden.  I’d almost forgotten I still had it until last night._  
  
 _I don’t know how you found out – I swear I never told anyone, I never even spoke to Mum about it after that day.  I can only assume you met the man Mum talks about._  
  
 _I love you, Dad._  
  
 _Lyn”_  
  
  
Robbie hadn’t made a sound or moved as James read.  James slowly folded Lyn’s letter and waited.  Robbie turned his head slightly, one eye peering at James.  It was one of those rare moments where James wasn’t sure what was going on in Robbie’s head, and he couldn’t read his face.  
  
“Read the other one,” Robbie murmured, resignation heavy in his voice.  
  
James cleared his throat.  
  
  
 _My love,_  
  
 _There’s something I have to tell you, something from my past that my family never wanted you to know.  I have to tell you now, because I recently ran into someone from my schooldays here in Oxford.  He’s changed a lot since I knew him and was very unpleasant.  Today he told me he was going to find a way to meet with you soon, and tell you why my family moved to Newcastle._  
  
 _I don't want you to hear it from him, but I know I won’t be able to say it to your face. Not after all these years._  
 _  
_James paused and swallowed; he was fighting to keep his voice level.  His thumb brushed over the fine paper.  The writing was a little shaky, and a large section on one edge was warped and the ink had run slightly.  James knew in his heart that it was from tears falling on the page, and his heart ached for the fear Val must have been feeling as she wrote. __  
  
I had a baby when I was 16.  A boy.  He lives in Australia now.  I'm sorry I never told you before, and I’m even sorrier you have to find out now, in this way. The man I ran into was the father.  He was never my boyfriend, not really, but you should know he didn’t force me – I chose to sleep with him. I think in his own way he loved me, as he wanted to marry me, but my mother wouldn’t allow it, nor would she ever let anyone speak of ‘that time’.  
  
 _You must have thought me such a little prude before we married.  It must have been so frustrating for you, knowing what your mates were getting up to and you were with me, but you never complained and you never tried to push me.  I loved you so much for that.  I knew you were the man for me the night we met, and my heart never strayed._  
  
 _I'm sure you hoped things would change after our engagement, especially since the wedding was only a few months away.  You must have wondered why mum was so eager for us to marry so quickly, especially the way she always tried to put you down, but you never questioned it or her or me.  Thing is, I was the one who wanted to get married quickly.  I wanted to be with you so much, it scared me.  But I was terrified that I'd fall pregnant before we married, and that someone in my family would tell you that it wasn't the first time.  As much as I loved you, as much as I was sure you loved me, I believed my mum when she told me a decent man like you wouldn't take 'spoiled goods'.  I'm sorry now I trusted her over you._  
  
  
“That's all there is,” whispered James.  He bowed his head and waited.  Robbie’s complete non-reaction was beginning to alarm him.  James wanted to witness some response, some acknowledgement that he’d heard anything.  
  
“She was 15,” Robbie growled.  “It was illegal; it might as well have been forced.  Bastard should have been prosecuted.   Val’s parents should have done a hell of a lot more than they did.”   
  
James almost heaved a sigh of relief at Robbie’s anger, but stopped himself in time.  
  
“Perhaps her parents chose not to in order to save her the stress of appearing in court,” James offered quietly.  
  
Robbie looked at him, his face dark with anger.  “More likely to save their own precious face in the community; that woman always thought they were better than everyone else.”  He covered his face with his hands.  “Oh, Val,” he groaned sadly.  “She should never have had to carry that secret – and then to be threatened by him.  And there’s no name, no clue as to who he is?”  Robbie looked at James hopefully, his face falling when James shook his head.  
  
Robbie lay back against the couch and stared at the ceiling.  “I suppose I should be grateful they didn’t let her marry him,” he said thoughtfully.  “I’d never have met her otherwise.  I never realised how much she loved me – I knew she did – but...  I never looked at anyone else, either; I had everything I wanted in Val.  Why the hell did that little bastard have to come here and stir everything up?  It sounds like his father let it go, otherwise this would have come out before now, don’t you think?”  He turned to James.  
  
“I would have thought so.”  
  
James watched as Robbie’s expression changed from frustrated to curious.  
  
“What’s the date on the letter?  And don't try to tell me there isn’t one, James; Val always dated her letters.”  
  
It was the one question James had hoped Robbie wouldn’t ask.  He’d understood the significance of the date immediately, and the course of events it and the letter suggested.  And Robbie would too.  
  
“The seventeenth of December.”  James couldn’t look at Robbie.  
  
“Seven–  2002?”  James heard the disbelief in Robbie’s voice.  Two days after she’d started that letter, Val had died on Oxford Street, London.  James had struggled with the revelation and he hadn’t known Val; Lyn had lived with the knowledge for over ten years.  
  
Robbie had buried his face in his hands again.  “I never understood why she suddenly decided to go to London that week.  I know there were some things she struggled to find in Oxford, and sometimes she’d go there with her mum, or meet up with old friends, but she never really liked London   If I knew with any certainty that meeting him – whoever he is – was the reason she went to London that day...”  He turned suddenly and grabbed James’s wrist.  “What if that wasn’t the first time she encountered him?  What if he’d been following her about?  Give me the letter, James, please.  Let me read it.”  
  
He released James from his grip as he took the offered letter.  James watched his eyes race across the pages.  
  
“Listen, James.  _‘I recently ran into someone’,_ and _‘today he told me’_ ; does that sound like two separate times to you?”  
  
“It’s what I thought when I first read it.”  
  
“Do you think meeting him led to her being in the path of...?”  
  
James grabbed both of Robbie’s wrists and pushed them down into his lap to anchor him.  He fixed him with no-nonsense stare.  “It’s pointless churning yourself up on what-ifs.  We don’t know what happened, and speculating isn’t going to give you any answers.  Maybe Val did go to London so she wouldn’t run into him again, and perhaps it’s just a nasty coincidence.  There is nothing concrete on which to form any decision, and I can’t bear to see you pull yourself and Lyn apart over this.”  
  
“Lyn,” Robbie mumbled.  “What other secrets is she keeping?  What else did she learn about her mother that she’s kept buried all these years?  She’s pulled out this letter – what else is tucked away somewhere?”  
  
James felt his own anger rising and fought to understand why Robbie kept going in circles.  “Why do you keep doing this?  Where is the point?  There was a child; that can’t be changed.  Val wasn’t able to tell you; there’s nothing you can do about that.  Lyn knew; that’s not her fault – this is her second time through this, and she’s probably terrified she’s lost _you_ because of it.”  James relaxed his grip on Robbie’s wrists and forced himself to calm down.   “What good can come of this?  If Harris hadn’t come here with whatever twisted agenda he has, you’d be none the wiser.  You wouldn’t be doubting your marriage or your daughter.  Don’t let his twisted motives tear your world and your memories apart.”  
  
“It’s too late, James, they already have.”  Robbie’s loss weighted his words.  
  
James moved so he could put his arm around Robbie’s shoulders.  “You can let it tear you apart or you can rise above it.  What Val did, she didn’t do to hurt you; she was certain she was doing the opposite.  If you need to blame anyone, blame Harris or his biological father – he took advantage of a vulnerable girl.  And you know your mother-in-law has to carry her fair share of the blame.”  
  
James felt Robbie’s shoulders begin to relax, as Robbie leant into James and let some of the tension leave his body.  
  
“Oh, God, James, what a nightmare this is,” Robbie said after a while.  “I don’t know what I would have done without you.   But it’s still not over.  Why the letters?  Why is Harris here?”  
  
James chose his words with care.  “Are you certain you want to pursue this?  Are you ready for whatever you might learn?”  
  
“I need to know, James.  As to whether I’m ready... I suppose that depends on what we find out.”  
  
“There is one thing that should be dealt with sooner rather than later,” James said cautiously.  He waited until Robbie was looking at him.  ”Lyn needs to know how you found out, otherwise that’s going to eat away at her – wondering who told you, who else knows about her mum, and what they might do with that knowledge.  Think about how you’re feeling – Lyn’s had to live with that same knowledge for years.  It would be heartless not to put her mind to rest on that one point at least.  It won’t change anything else, but it will mean one less thing she has to cope with.”  
  
Robbie closed his eyes.  “Could you call her?” he whispered.  “I’m not sure I could – not yet.”  
  
James held Robbie close.  “If you’re okay, I’ll go and do it now.”  Robbie nodded and James headed into the bedroom to make the call.

 

***

 

Lyn had been upset that it was James who had called her and not her dad, and James had done his best to reassure her that he would eventually come around, that he just needed time to work through everything that happened.  James knew first-hand how hard it was to repair a broken trust, but he also knew – believed he knew – Robbie’s heart; he would forgive Lyn in time.  
  
He let his eyes roam around Robbie’s bedroom.  It dawned on him that this was also his bedroom for the foreseeable future, that he had committed himself to sleeping beside Robbie for however long this would take.  He was certain Innocent was already starting to wonder about their relationship, thanks to Harris’s accusations, and knew that, for both their sakes, some discretion would be required.  He tried not to think about what would happen afterwards, when order and calm were reinstated, but couldn’t stop himself.  The new couch was fine for sitting and watching telly – as long as you didn’t want to curl up – but definitely not for sleeping on, not yet.  The way he saw it, there were two options: he slept in his own bed every night, no matter how late that meant leaving Robbie’s, or Robbie would let him stay in his bed.  James knew which he preferred.  
  
Giving himself a small shake, James headed out of the room.   He’d been in there over twenty minutes, and was surprised Robbie hadn’t come to check on him.  
  
He walked back into the living area, and smiled fondly at the sight before him.  Robbie had fallen asleep where he sat, with his head tipped back over the back of the couch.  James assessed Robbie’s position carefully.  The back rest on this couch was higher than the old one and, as long as he stayed in his current upright position, James decided that it wouldn’t give Robbie’s back too much grief if he left him there for a while – and the sleep would do him a world of good.

 

***

 

Robbie opened his eyes and stretched, tipping his head as far back as he could, and stared at the ceiling.  He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but he felt a hell of a lot better for it.  A noise caught his attention, and by rolling his head to one side he could see James in the kitchen.  He thought back over the past week, and of the many other things James had done for him over the years, and was more than thankful for James’s care and quiet understanding.   He remembered the times where James's investment in him had influenced his behaviour and decision-making; his uncertainty over the Monkford case, and his delight and gentle teasing when Robbie had become a grandfather had been two of the more obvious ones.  He watched James as he moved around the kitchen, completely at home, and he knew this was where James belonged, if only James could let himself believe it.  
  
If he’d tried to explain it to anyone, Robbie was certain he’d have been met with polite confusion and ‘jollied along’, but Robbie knew he’d made the right decision in getting rid of the old couch.   
  
He’d come to understand some time ago that James's love ran far deeper than that of a friend, as did his own for James – a self-revelation that had left him standing, stunned, in the middle of his kitchen, telling Monty how he felt.   
  
 _“I know he’s tried to be discreet, not let on what’s really going on inside of that head of his, but I was married over twenty years, Monty, I know what that quiet love looks like.  It’s not the big show or the declarations that count – any tosser with a bank balance and an ego can do that.  What d’you think?  What do I do?  He’s me best mate, Monty.  I love having him around – bugger it, I need him around.  I feel like I’m missing a piece of me when he’s not here, not close by. I think it’s supposed to bother me that he’s a bloke, but it doesn’t.  I mean, it’s not like I want to shag him, or anything like that.  An’ I’m pretty sure that’s not what he’s after, either; I’ve seen the looks he gives me sometimes, when he thinks I’m not paying attention – it’s definitely not about... sex.  Thing is, Monty... I love him, too.  There, I’ve said it.  And I want to be able to show him, for him to know it, and to not be afraid to show me.  Big question is how do I do that and what happens next?”_  
  
Robbie had also been aware of James’s finely honed self-preservation instincts, no doubt from being hurt in the past; James would never allow himself to get physically closer, and Robbie had realised he was going to have to give him a nudge – or a bloody great shove – if they were to move beyond dancing around each other.  He hadn’t able talk to him about it – neither of them were talkers – so that had really just left showing him, but he’d been afraid that if he just started touching or hugging James, he’d cause him to retreat further behind his own emotional barricades, possibly never coming out again.  Replacing the couch was the least obvious solution Robbie had been able to come up with.   
  
James had often slept at Robbie’s during investigations, and Robbie had felt certain that if he could somehow give James a ‘safe’ reason to share his bed, instead of concertinaing himself on the couch, James’s defences could gradually be worn down.  However, at the end of the day, he’d also accepted that it had to be James’s decision to accept his offer, and he would never have bullied or coerced him.   Robbie was happy that he’d been able to be _mostly_ truthful with James about how he’d chosen the couch; James didn’t have to know that he had tested each one to see which was the least comfortable to lie on, while still being well-suited to long periods of telly-watching.  What Robbie couldn’t have anticipated were Harris’s arrival and the storm coinciding. 

 

***

 

That night, when James climbed into bed beside him, Robbie slid closer until their backs were almost touching.  Robbie allowed himself a small, happy smile as James covered the remaining distance and lightly pressed his back to Robbie's.  
  
With James’s comforting presence, Robbie was able to let his mind slow down and work more rationally through the past few days.  In his mind, he could hear Lyn’s sobs as he’d walked out of her house with James.  It felt as though the duvet was crushing him, so great was the heaviness in his chest.  He’d call Lyn tomorrow.  James was right; she’d carried the knowledge of her mother – he’d seen it as a betrayal, not the crushing burden it really was – for far too long.  He hadn’t been able to see past his own anger to see her pain and sorrow.  He hoped Lyn could forgive him.  
  
He was ready to forgive Val.  She’d made one mistake and had been made to pay for it for the rest of her life; Robbie was certain her mother had made sure of that.  But he needed to know why she’d written to Harris, even though he wasn’t sure what difference it would make, other than being the last piece in the puzzle.  He could almost understand her writing to the aunt, as her Aunt Cissy had been involved in that.  He’d liked Aunt Cissy, and was sorry she wasn’t around any more.  He was sure there would have been a good reason why she’d passed that first letter onto Val.  
   
He could never forgive Val’s mother, though.  No person should ever have that much control over another.  He’d always known she badgered Val, always pointing out where she could do things better, berating small mistakes, lamenting what she saw as Robbie’s ‘lack of ambition’ as though it were Val’s fault, but he’d never realised how deeply Val had been scarred – and she had been scarred, he could see it now.  He had offered to say something to her mother more than once, tell her enough was enough, but Val had always responded with “she’s my mum, and that’s the way she is.  You’d just be wasting your breath, and giving her more ammunition.  Just let it be, please, Robbie”.  
  
He sighed heavily, catching his breath as James moved and murmured behind him.  He listened quietly until he was sure James was asleep.   
  
As for Harris...  Robbie clenched his fists.  Pressing his back against James, he forced himself to think of more pleasant things.


	13. Thursday

 

James rose long before five, unable to sleep any longer, and carefully slipped out of bed.  Robbie was still snoring softly when he looked in on his way out the door, and James was tempted to kiss his forehead.  Having left a note for Robbie, James went into the station; as he had drifted off the night before, he’d made a hard decision about what he felt had to do, and the resources he needed were only freely accessible from his desk.  In his head was the address of Harris’s contact.  
  
Slipping quietly through the mostly empty station at half-five, James prayed that he could find something – anything – that would bring Robbie closer to a resolution, even if it meant James risked losing the new intimacy they had.  
  
James was disappointed to find that the information relating to the investigation into Harris’s bribery charge had restricted access.  However, as a fellow officer had been disciplined over the incident, he’d anticipated that might be the case, and went to his back-up plan.  Half-an-hour, three phone calls, and an email later, all he could do was wait to see what turned up.  If they were quick enough, he’d have a response to his email before he left; James hoped they were having a slow day.  
  
Pushing that issue to one side, James focused on the address Harris had given Robbie, and hoped his memory was accurate.  He could have taken the note from Robbie’s wallet, but that was a breach of trust, and he wasn’t going to wake Robbie to ask him – there would have been too many questions.  
  
His first discoveries intrigued him.  A quick check showed that the listed occupant at the address Harris gave them was a William Collins – Val had mentioned a William as the baby’s father in a letter.  Digging a little further, James wasn’t entirely surprised to discover that this particular William Collins had a police record.  Of most interest, however, was that his date of birth put him right in the frame to potentially be Harris’s father. ~~  
~~  
As James called up the file, he silently gave thanks for the digitisation project that had occurred several years earlier.  At the time it had been disruptive, and tracking down older files had often been a frustrating experience.  However, had Collins’s file _not_ been digitised, James was certain he would have wasted a lot of time locating and retrieving the earliest information.  When the file loaded, James wasn’t sure whether to be delighted or appalled; Collins had an extensive record and it was all available online.   
  
James worked methodically through the file, starting with the earliest entries, and made careful notes.  He was curious to see that Collins’s first charge – for assault – had occurred in September 1974, which was shortly after the time Val’s family had relocated to Newcastle.  As he followed the trail, James was sickened by the realisation that Collins’s record was an unbroken list of crimes against women, with assault, attempted rape and rape featuring most prominently; he’d been in prison longer than he’d been out.   
  
James scrolled through the successive charges and years, with the gaps indicating time served, gasping loudly when he reached 1985; the charge was assault – a particularly vicious attack which had left the victim with permanent injuries.  But the greatest shock for James wasn’t the crime – the arresting officer was listed as Det. Sgt Robert Lewis.  James realised it must have been one of Robbie's earliest arrests after he’d transferred to Oxford, and before he was assigned to Morse.  If this was Harris’s father – and James’s gut told him it was – he felt certain this charge was in some way connected to what was happening now.  
  
James returned to Collins’s personal details.  Almost buried within the stream of information was a next-of-kin contact for a Mrs Margaret Harris; the address matched an earlier piece of information James had received.  He continued to scour through the facts, cross-referencing against other data sources at his disposal.  He spread out the notes he’d made and began to review them; if he’d connected the dots correctly – and he was certain he had – William Collins was indeed Carl Harris’s father and Margaret Harris (nee Collins) was Collins’s sister – and the aunt who had adopted Harris.  James had also located another sister, Hazel Collins, for whom he’d found a local address and phone number.  
  
With his elbows planted on the desk, James covered the lower half of his face and breathed out heavily.   An email notification box popped up on his screen – it was a response to his earlier message.  As he opened the email, he noted it was after nine.  Though he knew it was only a slim chance, he hoped Robbie was still sleeping and not pacing the flat waiting for him; his note had specifically asked Robbie not to call him.   
  
As he went to open the first email attachment, a movement in the doorway caught his eye, and he looked up, startled.  
  
“The Duty Sergeant mentioned you’d come in and hadn’t left yet.”  Innocent studied James intently.  
  
“Ma’am... I, um... I was...”  James floundered.   
  
Innocent walked up to the desk and leant on the edge.  “James,” she said kindly, “as long as you can assure me you’re not doing anything illegal, or anything that may come back to bite you, Lewis or me on the arse – I don’t want to know.”  
  
“Understood, Ma’am.  Thank you.”  
  
As he watched her disappear down the hallway, James printed out what he felt were the more relevant pages of Collins’s record, and the email and its attachments, before he shut down his computer and left quietly.

 

***

 

Robbie was waiting anxiously for James; from his note, Robbie had expected him home much sooner.   
  
He’d woken at seven and, though initially peeved with James, he’d soon taken his absence as a blessing.  He’d called Lyn just after eight, when he knew Tim would be off to work and Thom would be playing or watching the telly.  In the solitude of the flat, he’d let tears flow quietly as Lyn wept; Robbie wasn’t prone to tears – that was the way he’d been raised – and the last time he’d cried had been when Val died.  Even then, it had been in the privacy of his bedroom, where no-one could see or hear him.  He’d promised Lyn that he’d visit again soon; he wanted to hold her and show her how truly sorry he was.  She’d made him promise to bring James.  “I can tell he really cares about you and, to me, that makes him family, and he should be included.”  
  
That had been over half an hour ago.  From the evidence in the kitchen when he’d first got up, it was obvious to Robbie that James had gone out without food or coffee, and James didn’t cope well without coffee.  When James finally walked through the door, Robbie made a fresh batch of coffee and toast.     
  
“You should have said last night you were thinking of going in.  We could have talked about it.”  Robbie leant against the worktop, his concern for James making him a bit short-tempered.  He watched as James laid various papers out on the dining table.  
  
“I didn’t decide definitely until after you were asleep.  Besides, you would have either tried to talk me out of it or, worse, insisted on coming in with me.”  
  
“Worse?  How?”  
  
“Innocent found me.  It’s okay.”  Robbie had dropped his head in his palm, covering his eyes.  “As long as there’s no fallout, it’s fine.”  
  
“Will there be any?”  Robbie carried the coffee and cups to the dining table, and went back for the toast.  
  
“Not if we’re careful.”  
  
“ _James._ ”  
  
“My primary source was the address Harris freely gave us.  There’s no fallout there.  And no, I didn’t take it from your wallet.”  He tapped his temple.  “It was up here – you’re the one who keeps pointing out my big brain.”  
  
Robbie huffed.  “And your secondary sources?”  
  
“I haven’t had the opportunity to look at those results yet.”  
  
“What results, James?”  
  
James sat down at the table and drew a folder towards him.  “I made some very early calls and, as a result of those, I sent an email to another police force, which got back to me in what must be record time.”  
  
Robbie sat down opposite him and stretched across for the folder, which James pulled out of his reach.  
  
Exhaling heavily, James continued.  “I rang Harris’s hotel and asked for the contact details in Australia, and then I checked with the Australian Electoral Commission that it was a valid and current address.  From there I called the relevant state police force and submitted a formal request as per their instructions.”  
  
“Asking what?  And on what grounds?”  Robbie was aghast.   
  
“A simple background check, a preliminary enquiry.  He _has_ bribed a police officer, remember?”  
  
“I thought you’d discarded the idea of a background check?”  
  
“For trying to find out the identity of Harris’s father, yes, I had discarded it as a potential source.  But my mind kept going back to _that_ meeting, and I was determined to find out what I could about him.  And there was the stunt he pulled with the formal complaint...”  
  
“If Innocent gets wind of this, you know you could be busted down – the ACC had put that investigation on hold.”  
  
“If it brings us closer to giving you some answers, I don’t care.”   
  
Robbie didn’t know what to say and simply stared at James, who stared back, unrepentant.  
  
With a gentle sigh, Robbie accepted that what was done was done.  “Do you want to tell me what you’ve already found out, or do you want to go through that folder first?”  
  
James held up the folder.  “I consider myself lucky to have this at all, and before you ask, yes, I logged it as per procedure; I’ve nothing to hide – the information I used was freely available and known to Innocent and the ACC.  I was hoping you’d go through this with me; see if there was anything that leapt out at you.”  
  
Robbie moved around to sit next to James.

 

***

 

The information on Harris was revealing.  While his criminal convictions were relatively minor, whoever had compiled the response had also attached a file detailing an extensive history of disruptive and anti-social behaviour.  The documentation also showed that Harris had spent two extended periods in a psychiatric institution, but didn’t indicate why he had been admitted.  Both Robbie and James were surprised at the level of information supplied, given the very basic nature of James’s enquiry, a copy of which was also included among the print-outs.  There was also a reference to a sealed juvenile record.  He was certainly not the psychologist he claimed to be – as far as James could determine, Harris hadn’t undertaken any form of tertiary study – however, he had clearly learnt enough from observing the psychologists and psychiatrists he’d no doubt been treated by to fool a lot of people.  
  
While it didn’t give them any answers as to Harris’s motivation, it provided an interesting insight into his character, and James felt certain that the pieces would eventually fall into place.  
  
Laying aside the folder and its email contents, James began to go through the other information he’d compiled.  
  
“I know this Collins has to be Harris’s father – the address for Margaret Collins, who is definitely his sister, is the exact same one Harris left at the hotel.  It’s not pretty reading.  Despite everything else she did, Val’s mother did the right thing in not letting her marry Collins.”  
  
As he detailed his findings, James passed over the various sections he’d printed out, until he came to Robbie’s encounter with Collins.  
  
“You arrested him in 1985.”  Robbie blinked at him in surprise.  “He was eventually sentenced to a total of fifteen years, but was released early for _good behaviour_.  He moved back to Oxford, to his mother’s house, in August 1997.”  James passed the relevant pages to Robbie, and watched his changing expression as he read through the details.  
  
“I remember this case, but I don’t really remember Collins, beyond a vague recollection of wanting to hurt him.  What I do remember is the victim.”  James was surprised by the pain in Robbie’s eyes.  While he knew Robbie was a kind soul, and could be very sympathetic, sometimes empathetic, with victims and their families, James was amazed that a case well over twenty-five years old could still evoke such a strong response in him.  
  
“When I first had to interview her in the hospital, I couldn’t speak.  It wasn’t just the injuries – and, God knows, they were horrific – James, she could’ve been Val.  The resemblance was striking.”  
  
He bowed his head over the report again before asking James for the details of the other family members James had located.  
  
“I remember interviewing his parents – the bloke was thirty and still lived with them – and a sister he claimed he was staying with on the night of the attack.  If Margaret’s in Australia, she’s been there since, what was it? 1980?  So it would have been this Hazel I spoke with.  Unless there’s other sisters that didn’t show up.”  
  
“Can you remember any more?” James prodded.  
  
Robbie raised his eyebrows.  “Not all of us have photographic memories, clever clogs, and I’ve arrested a hell of a lot of people over the years.  If I remembered every detail of every case, I think I’d go a little mad.  If it wasn’t for the victim, I doubt I’d remember much about this one either.  Printing out the entire case file might have helped.”  
  
Robbie frowned and looked away, as though he was remembering something else.  James waited as Robbie skimmed through the pages again.  
  
“There was no love lost,” he said eventually.  “The sister practically shopped him.  He _had_ stayed at her house that night, but he’d come in a lot later than he told us, and she’d found his blood-stained shirt and hidden it.  She gave it to us in a plastic bag, and told us ‘throw away the key this time’.”  
  
James sat up very straight and caught Robbie’s eye.  “I think we should see if Miss Collins would be willing to tell us some more about her brother and nephew.  Don’t you?”  
  
Robbie exhaled slowly.  “We’ll need to be able to provide an acceptable reason for seeing her, in case Innocent or anyone else gets wind of it.”  
  
“We believed she could provide us with a more local address for Harris?” James offered.  “I’m sure the ACC would like to know efforts were made to ensure he didn’t get away with bribery.”  
  
“You know we can’t use that – don’t push it.  I’m sure you’ll think of something if we need it.”  Robbie reached for his mobile.  “I was the arresting officer.  I’ll call.”

 

***

 

“Miss Collins?”  
  
“Ah, sorry.  _Ms_ Collins, I’m Detective Inspector Robert Lewis, and...”  
  
“Nothing, as far as I’m aware...”  
  
“It’s about his son, Carl...”  
  
“My Sergeant and I can be there by....”  
  
“Right.  I understand. Three o’clock, then.  Good b–”  
  
“ _Bloody hell!_ ”  Robbie stared at his phone.  
  
James burst out laughing.  “What on earth was that about?”  
  
Robbie put on a voice, presumably attempting to mimic Hazel Collins.  
  
 _“What’s Bill done this time?”  
  
“Not Bill? Then what do you want?  
  
“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  I’m happy to help in any way I can.  When can you get here?”  
  
“Three would suit me best.”_  
  
“I hope she lets one of us get a whole sentence out.”  He frowned at James, a gesture ruined by his half-grin.  “Oh, shut up, will you?”  
  
James cleared his throat and wiped his hand across his face.  “Actually, three works best for me, too.”  
  
“Eh?”  
  
“If we’re going there on ‘official business’, I’m going to need a suit.”

 

***

 

After dropping in at James’s flat, they arrived outside the neat, modest home of _Ms_ Hazel Collins.  
  
She stared at Robbie for a moment after opening the door, standing back to let them in.  As soon as Robbie stepped into the tiny living room, he remembered being here all those years ago.  
  
Robbie sat on the small two-seater couch and James sat next to him; there was barely enough room and they were pressed together, but as the only other chair in the room had already been occupied by Ms Collins, James had had little choice.  Robbie didn’t really mind.  What he did mind was when James hijacked the interview.  
  
“Ms Collins, we were wondering what you could tell us about your brother, his son, Carl, and Carl’s biological mother.”  
  
She sat back in the chair, studying James intently,  
  
“Firstly, it’s Hazel.  Secondly, why do you want to know?”  
  
“Carl has arrived in Oxford and has been creating a bit of trouble.  He’s pursuing the family of his biological mother, making various enquiries, and has made false allegations about the officers who were following up on those enquiries.  He’s also wanted for questioning on another charge.  Anything you could tell us that might speak to his motivation would be extremely helpful.”  
  
Robbie bit his bottom lip as he watched Hazel’s demeanour soften.  He didn’t do it as often as he could, but when James wanted to charm, he could do it with style and sincerity.   
  
As he watched Hazel, Robbie felt a chill at the smile that crossed her face; he’d seen it once before, when she’d produced the shirt that effectively convicted her brother.  He felt his gut tighten a little as she sat back in her chair and started to talk.  He felt James shift beside him; a quick glance showed he had his notebook ready.  
  
“To understand that child, you need to know his history, and his father.  As I said, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  I can’t really tell you a lot about the mother.  He was a weird kid, our Bill; he'd get obsessed about a thing and you couldn't get him away from it.  He was always a little strange in the head, and he got worse as he got older.  Mad for the girls, he was, and it didn’t help that our dad encouraged him.  He first spotted young Valerie – that was the name of Carl’s mother, Valerie Venables – when he was, oh, my, he would have been about fifteen.  He'd talk about her at home non-stop until dad gave him a hiding he wouldn't forget.  Then he started following her around, but she either didn’t notice, or didn’t want anything to do with him.  When he got a girlfriend in fifth form, we thought he'd got over Valerie, until we met her.  Michelle, her name was.  Well, she was the spitting image of Valerie when she had her hair down.  Felt sorry for her in way, but they were together nearly a year.”  
  
She gazed off into the distance for a moment.  
  
“Then, next thing we knew, she was out the picture and Valerie’s back in and there’s all this chatter and fuss about a baby.  Mum and Dad tried to convince her family to let her marry Bill, but her mum – stuck-up woman – refused, said she’d make sure Valerie never saw him again.  They didn’t like that – Mum, Dad and Bill.  Mum and Dad kept telling Bill that Valerie would soon be old enough to make up her own mind, and they were sure she’d be back.  And they were determined the baby would stay close to the family so that one day he could be back with his real parents.  That’s why he went to Meg and George.  I often wondered why Valerie’s family never objected to the adoption – it was their grandchild too; they could have had some say in what happened to it.”  
  
James interrupted her.  “Meg.  That would be Margaret, your sister?”  
  
“Well, half-sister actually – her mum died when she was a baby.  There are eleven years between her and me, and two between me and Bill.  Meg and George didn’t really want kids, but they agreed it was important the wee one should grow up with people who were real family and be able to know his real parents.”  
  
“Bill always kept a photo of Val and the baby with him – a reminder of what was meant to be.  Meg took the photo the day the adoption was official and they finally took young Carl home.  They’d invited Valerie over for dinner and taken it then – as far as I know, it was the first and only time she saw the baby.  Her mother somehow found out where she was, and why, and practically dragged her out of the house by her hair.  My mum was furious; she never stopped banging on about it being a crime to split up a family.  And it got worse over the years when there were no more grandkids.  I didn’t want any, Margaret couldn’t have any and had her hands full with Carl anyway, and Bill didn’t want anyone else, just Valerie.  Like I said, a little strange and obsessed.”  
  
James spoke cautiously.  “It’s our understanding that Carl’s mother left Oxford shortly after Carl was born.  Can you remember anything from then?”  
  
“Bill came home one day in a rage, screaming that the house was empty, and when he’d gone asked the neighbours, all they told him was that the family had moved up north because Mr Venables had a new job.  He went on and on about how he was going to find her, and bring her back when she was old enough, and how they’d get Carl back.  He took off, and two days later Dad got a call to say Bill had been arrested for beating up some poor girl.  He made a right mess of her face but, if you squinted at the newspaper photo, she could have been Valerie.  I don’t know where she went, but she was better off away from Bill.  Most people tried to keep away from him.  He’s been in and out of prison most of his life.  He was out when he found out that George had got a job in Australia, and was taking Carl with him – as was his right.  He flew into a right rage over that, attacked his parole officer, and got put back inside for six months; they were gone by the time he was released.  Whenever he was out he stayed with Mum and Dad, and there was often a girl or woman around.  None of them ever lasted long; some he hit, but the creepiest part was that they all resembled Valerie in some way – how she looked in the photo he had.”  
  
James leant forward.  “Surely, with... the mother away, and the child in Australia, he gave up the notion of... reuniting?”  
  
Robbie was quietly astonished that Hazel didn’t query James.  He kept waiting for her to ask them again what they wanted, but then he realised she was enjoying herself.  He suspected James could ask her anything at this point and she’d talk freely.  
  
“Ha!”  Hazel clapped her hand together with a crack.  “It made him more determined.  He and Meg exchanged letters every couple of months and they were always filled with schemes about the day they’d all be together again.  And Mum and Dad were right behind him.  Madness.”  
  
“Did they ever meet up again, Bill and... Valerie?”  Robbie wondered what the hell James was up to.  Surely the answer to that was obvious?  
  
“I think they nearly did.”  Hazel’s answer stunned Robbie.  “I was over at Mum and Dad’s one afternoon and Bill came running in, babbling that he’d seen her, not someone who looked like her, he was adamant it was Valerie.  And he’d followed her, found out where she was living.”  
  
“Do you recall when that was?”  James’s voice was as steady as a rock.  
  
“Oh, yes, around July of 1985 – that Live Aid Concert had just happened.”  
  
Robbie managed to hold back his shocked cry, and he felt James tense up beside him.  _Collins knew where we lived back then?_  
  
Hazel continued talking, presumably unaware of the effect of her words.  “I always had the feeling he knew more about Valerie than he ever told us, though, something that made him hold back.  We kept expecting him to say he’d spoken to her, or met up with her, but he never did.  He became more secretive than normal.  I’m sure he was following her around, biding his time for some reason.  Not that it mattered in the end.  Within a month or so, something set him off and he went out and battered some poor lass again. Cheeky bastard tried to use me as an alibi, but I sorted him out.  Had the shirt he was wearing that night, covered in blood it was.  You should have seen the look on the face on the detective who...”  She peered at Robbie, reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a glasses case.  Settling the glasses on her face, she looked at Robbie again.  “Oh, I thought there was something vaguely familiar about you.  You’re the one who arrested him.  And now Carl’s turned up on your doorstep, so to speak.  It really is a small world.”  
  
 _You don’t know the half of it_ , thought Robbie.  
  
“Do you know what the weirdest part of all that was?  While he was locked away that time, and after he came out, he hardly ever mentioned Valerie.  It was like he'd found something or someone else to obsess over.”  
  
 _Probably me_.  Robbie hoped his face wouldn’t give him away.  He concentrated on keeping his breathing steady, half-listening as James brought the interview to an end and thanked Hazel.  A light nudge with an elbow was his cue to stand, and he followed James to the door.  Once outside, he walked to the car without looking back, his mind trying to put all the facts together.

 

***

 

James brought two beers to where Robbie had slumped on the couch, and sat next to him, letting their arms brush together.  Robbie took a long drink and sighed.   
  
"It’s madness.  Why'd he not show his hand sooner?  He was out of prison in 1997, but he doesn’t approach Val until 2002 – if he was so bloody obsessed with her, why didn’t he do something sooner?”  
  
“Ah,” said James.  “I didn’t get a chance to show you the rest of his record.  He was back in prison before Christmas 1997 and didn’t get out until August 2002 – he attacked his mother that time.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Hazel believes it was their mother who became his new ‘obsession’.”  
  
“You don’t believe that, though, do you?”  
  
“Not for one minute; I have no doubt _you_ were his new focus.”  James raised his beer and drank deeply.  
  
"I married the woman he never forgot, and I banged him up for assaulting another.  No bloody wonder he had it in for me."   
  
“People have been a target for less.”  
  
Robbie turned his head towards James.  “You’re no bloody comfort.”  
  
“We are talking about someone who was – probably still is – delusional and obsessive, and who had family support.”  
  
Robbie puffed out his cheeks.  “So where’s he been for the past ten years?”  
  
James heaved himself to his feet, and retrieved the folder from the dining table.  Sitting back down with a thump, he flicked through the contents.  “Nothing; and there’s no record of his death, either.”  
  
“Just doesn’t make sense...”  
  
“Maybe he just gave up; Val was gone and…”  
  
Robbie sat forward, twisting his body around to face James.  “He was ready to find me and tell all – d’you really think he would have just given up?”  
  
“No.”  James frowned.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t have an answer for you.  Maybe he was an involuntary patient in a psychiatric hospital?  Unless it was court-ordered, it wouldn’t show up readily on our system.  Do you want to visit Hazel again?  See if she can shed any light?”  
  
Robbie thought for a moment.  “No.  We go back there and she just might start asking awkward questions; we were lucky today.”  
  
James nodded, and they sat quietly for a moment.  “None of it explains why Harris has turned up now, either,” James murmured.  
  
“No.  No, it doesn’t.” Robbie agreed with a heavy sigh.  “Or the letters.”  
  
“No, but I think we have a bit more insight into them, though.”  James tossed the folder on the coffee table, finished his beer, and placed the bottle on top of it.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Collins was somehow instrumental in his sister’s decision to write to Val in the first place.  You heard Hazel – Collins and Margaret exchanged letters regularly.  It must have been a very persuasive argument that got the first letter to Val through her aunt.  And I think it would be fair to assume that whatever Val wrote to Margaret was repeated to Collins.  That would explain why he didn’t approach Val when he saw she was back in Oxford; he would have known her husband – you – were a police officer, and he most likely knew your name.  Then you arrested him.  He may or may not have put two and two together at the time of the arrest, but he certainly would have later.”  
  
Robbie nodded.  He’d reached that conclusion as well.  James wasn’t finished.  
  
“So, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that, while he was in prison that time, he and Margaret schemed together through their letters to get Margaret to somehow convince Val to write to Harris – or that he at least planted the seed.  They probably felt certain that, if they could get that exchange of letters happening as well, you’d eventually discover at least one letter at some point, and from there learn about the baby.  I’d say their hope was that you’d become so angry you'd leave Val.  Then, in his head, Collins would step in and pick up the pieces, fully expecting Val to welcome him with open arms, and he’d also return her ‘long-lost’ son.”  
  
Robbie stared at him, and James leant into Robbie.  “We’ve seen stranger motives and actions.  And I did say he was delusional.”  
  
Robbie sank back against the couch and let himself lean into James’s shoulder.  "You were convinced all along the father was the key, James. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you sooner; it might have saved us all some grief."  
  
James shook his head sadly. "I had hoped so, but as soon as those letters mentioned Lyn and Mark, I knew that, no matter what you learnt about Harris’s father, you'd still want to talk to Lyn.  Everything would have come out anyway."  
  
Robbie clapped his hand on James’s knee.  “I’m fed up with this arsing around and I want some answers.  I think we should line up William Collins for a visit. I think it’s fair to say father and son are in this together, I want to know why they’ve waited until now to drag all this up, and what the hell they were hoping to achieve.  At the very least, we could confirm if father and son have met up recently.”  
  
“Tomorrow’s good for me.”  James grinned.  
  
“Tomorrow it is.”


	14. Friday

 

James sat down at the dining table and poured himself another coffee.  Robbie was studying the black and white photograph of Collins James had printed out as part of his research the previous day.   
  
“Odds are, you’re wasting your time,” James said quietly.  “That shot was taken in ninety-seven; he could have changed – a lot.”  
  
Robbie put the sheet face down on the table and rubbed his eyes with the fingers of one hand, and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
“I think it’s stupid that I can’t recall him, and then I’m glad I don’t.  The thought of that... animal... following Val around sickens me, you know.  What on earth could she have seen in him?  I know she was only fifteen, and she might have been naive, but I’m sure she wasn’t bloody blind.”  
  
“He may have seemed quite – personable – at the time.  It’s flattering at any age to know someone’s interested in you, even more so when you’re starting to understand your own sexuality.  It’s worth bearing in mind that his first arrest came after Val’s family spirited her away from Oxford.”  
  
“Are you defending him?”  Robbie’s posture was the most defensive James had ever seen it.  
  
“No!” James protested hurriedly.  “I’m just offering a possible explanation as to why Val was... why she slept with him,” he mumbled.  
  
“She slept with him because he forced her.”  Robbie’s voice was getting harder.  
  
“Did he?”  James felt his own defences rising.  “Val said he didn’t – ‘he didn’t force me’, ‘I chose’ – her words, Robbie, her handwriting.  Why would she lie?”  James took a slow breath and continued gently.  “If it’s any comfort, I doubt he set out to hurt her, nor meant for her to fall pregnant.”  
  
Robbie slumped back in the chair, and James waited, watching the tension leave his shoulders.  
  
“You know, last night it struck me again that if Val hadn’t fallen pregnant, I would never have met her.  The thought that I might owe that bastard for everything I had...”   
  
“You don’t owe him anything.  I have no doubt, regardless of what happened, that you would have met someone else, and been just as happy.”  James froze; the words had come out before he’d really thought about them.  
  
“But it wouldn’t have been Val.”  Robbie frowned.  
  
“But you wouldn’t have known about Val,” James replied gently, hoping he hadn’t crossed a line, and cursing his stupidity.  “You would have met someone like her, someone you connected with, who connected with you.  Someone you couldn’t imagine living life without.  They would have been out there, somewhere.”  
  
James turned away from Robbie’s now curious gaze, and began to gather up their dirty dishes.  Robbie stilled him by laying his fingers lightly across his wrist.  
  
“Do you really believe that?”  It was almost a whisper.  “That there’s someone for everyone, somewhere?”  
  
James nodded, his attention captured by toast crumbs clinging to a knife.  “We should all have something to hope for,” he murmured, as he slipped his wrist from under Robbie’s hand.  He picked up his empty mug, and added it to the other dishes which he carried into the kitchen.  As he ran the water in the sink, he was convinced he could feel Robbie’s eyes watching him, and he wished, not for the first time, that he had the confidence to ask Robbie what he really felt.  He jumped as the soft scrape of the chair told him Robbie had left the table, and released his breath with a soft, sad sigh when he heard Robbie enter the bathroom.

 

***

 

They studied the run-down, compact semi-detached house from the car.   
  
“C’mon, James; this isn’t getting us any answers.”  Robbie was out of the car and crossing the road before James could get his seatbelt off.   
  
As Robbie knocked hard and stepped back, James took up a place behind and to the side of Robbie, just out of the direct line of the door, and worried at the grim determination on his friend’s face.   
  
  
  
Robbie had raised his hand to knock again, when he heard the thumping of someone walking heavily downstairs.  He steeled himself to face the man whose actions, along with his mother-in-law's, had left his Val with a burden she should never have had to bear.  The door swung open, and Robbie stared in shock at the startled face of Carl Harris.  James quickly pushed forward, putting his body in the doorway before Harris could close the door.  
  
“Didn’t expect to see you here after this time,” Harris sneered, recovering his composure.  
  
James drew himself up to his full height.  “We’re here to see William Collins; your father, I believe?”  
  
“He is, and you can’t.”  Harris stepped forward, placing himself squarely in the doorway and forcing James to take a step back.  
  
Robbie found his voice.  “May we come in, please?”  
  
“No.”  Harris folded is arms across his chest.  “What d’you want?  You haven’t brought the box back – why are you here?”  
  
“We’d like to talk to your father about a conversation we had with his sister yesterday.”  Robbie was gratified to see a flash of uncertainty cross Harris’s face.   
  
“As I said, you can’t.”  Harris recovered quickly.  “He’s not here.”  
  
“Could you please tell us where we might find him?”  Robbie cringed inside as he forced himself to be civil; on some people it was a waste of time, but Robbie wouldn’t give Harris the slightest grounds for complaint.  
  
“I rather think that’s his business.”  Harris slumped against the doorway, oozing disrespect.  “Anything you want to ask him, you can ask me.”   
  
“Fair enough.  I’ll ask you again: may we come in, please?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Mr Harris.”  Robbie’s patience was wearing dangerously thin, and he was ready to take Harris by his shirtfront and shake him thoroughly.  Only the finger of doubt that James might _not_ intervene stopped him.  “We can do this inside, on the doorstep, or down at the station.  The choice is yours.”  
  
Harris’s gaze shifted from Robbie, to James and back again.  To Robbie’s astonishment, he reached inside the door and produced a jacket.  “Let’s go to the station, then,” he said with a smirk.  “Dad would be pretty pissed off if he found out I’d let coppers stink up his house.”

 

***

 

He hadn’t anticipated this turn of events.  _Stupid!_ thought Robbie, _bloody stupid_.  With Harris in the car, they couldn’t discuss their next course of action, and Robbie would have to rely on James’s intuition and knowledge of him.  Robbie wanted answers from Harris, and his gut told him Harris wanted to talk – or, more likely, gloat.  Robbie suspected Harris believed by telling all in the station, where there would be other witnesses, he could shame and embarrass Robbie.  What Harris certainly wouldn’t have counted on was the solidarity of other police officers when one of their own, or their family, was being attacked – nor James’s solid, reassuring support and loyalty.  
  
Walking into the station with Harris would mean that Innocent, and possibly the ACC, would eventually want to know how they found him.  Robbie already knew what he was going to do and say; he trusted James to work it out too.

 

***

 

The trip to the station was undertaken in silence.  Robbie drove, and James sat in the back of the car with Harris.  Harris wasn’t cuffed – they had no grounds to restrain him – and James watched him carefully; one wrong move and James would have had no hesitation in hurting him in order to bring him under control.  He found Harris’s silence unnerving, as he had half-expected a stream of abuse or vitriol, and found himself wondering what Harris would come out with once they were in an interview room.  James’s mind started to race as he began to wonder what Robbie wanted him to do once they arrived at the station, then calmed himself with the knowledge that he would figure it out.  He trusted Robbie, and knew that Robbie trusted him.  
  
As they escorted Harris to the interview room, Robbie turned off and headed upstairs.  The direction indicated Innocent’s office, and the set of Robbie’s shoulders signalled to James that he was preparing to tell all – or at least as much as he needed to.  James nudged Harris, who’d slowed down to see where Robbie was going, and pointed forward.  He was a little surprised no-one had questioned his presence in the station as he was officially on leave, but then he hadn’t run into anyone who would have been aware.  Neither he nor Robbie had mentioned going on leave, and he was certain Innocent would only say if asked directly.  James seconded a uniformed constable to accompany him to the room.  
  
Once in the room, James took up his position on the opposite side of the table.  He had no idea how long they would have to wait, but James was certain of one thing: when Robbie sat down in that room, Innocent would be next door, observing.  Whatever happened next, he would feel more comfortable with another witness, in addition to the uniformed constable – as, no doubt, Robbie would – and the more senior the better; Harris had proved himself a troublemaker, and the fewer openings left for him, the happier James felt.   
  
He gazed coldly at Harris, until the older man looked away.  James was conscious of the constable behind his shoulder, and he wondered why Harris hadn’t started mouthing off to a new audience.  Watching him gaze around the room, James realised that whatever Harris planned to say, it would be directed primarily at Robbie – no-one else was significant enough in Harris’s eyes, unless they could be used in some way against Robbie.  
  
James and Harris sat in silence for nearly half an hour.  Beginning to get concerned, James stepped out of the room to see if he could find out what was happening.  Moving into the corridor, James saw Robbie and Innocent walking towards him.  Innocent’s expression was determined, as though she was preparing to face up to Harris herself; James was convinced that she now knew all they did.  Robbie was moving heavily, and when he looked up he looked as ill as he had after he had called Susanna.  James blinked in astonishment as Robbie shook off his dread in the final three paces he needed to reach the door.

 

***

 

Harris’s gaze drifted towards the two-way glass.  “Who’s behind there?”  He rolled his head back and fixed his eyes on Robbie, who had just sat down.  “Someone’s bound to be watching.  How will you feel now that everyone will soon learn what a little tart your wife was? The great Robert Lewis married a little slag who opened her legs to the first person who offered.”  
  
Robbie jerked forward in his seat, every muscle tensed.  He immediately felt James’s hand slip under his elbow and pull on his arm, holding him in place on his chair.  He relaxed into his grip, glancing at James, who had his eyes fixed on Harris, who started to chuckle.  
  
“I knew I was right about you two.  Platonic, my arse – or maybe you’d like a bit of that too,” Harris sneered.  He looked at Robbie, jerking his head towards James.  “What's he like? Looks a pretty tight bastard to me, but I bet he’s very flexible.  And you...”  He turned to James.  “Bet you like it when he starts ordering you around.  Do you prefer the handcuffs or the baton?  No, wait – you’d probably like both.”  
  
Neither of them responded to Harris’s taunts, but Robbie was keenly aware of the coolness where James’s hand had been, and that James had put as much distance between them as he could without moving his chair.  Robbie wanted to shove Harris back against the wall and silence him, but he knew, despite the anger and embarrassment he must be feeling, in this environment James would definitely stop him.  And he knew James had to feel embarrassed because he did, even though there were no grounds to Harris’s accusations.  But Robbie was afraid they might mean something more to James.  Whatever James was, Robbie was certain he wasn’t heterosexual – or at least not entirely; he really had no idea about James's sexual history.  But he knew he loved him, whatever he was, and he'd always love him and stand by him, and he'd defend him, too – if that was what James wanted — but he was also pretty sure James didn't need to be defended.  
  
They let Harris continue to dig himself deeper.   
  
“Don't know how you've pulled the wool over your boss's eyes; one switched-on, hard-arsed bitch, that one.  Which one of you is giving her one?”  Harris’s eyes roamed between them.  “You, old man, you don't look up to it, and you – well, I bet she’d fancy a piece of you – but I doubt you'd know what to do with a woman, especially that ball-breaking cow.”  
  
Robbie stared at him in masked disbelief at his arrogance.  He could only imagine the comments being made next door.  “Why are you in Oxford?” he asked when Harris seemed to be finished.  
  
“You know why I’m here.”  Harris slumped back in the chair, visibly displeased by the lack of response from either of them.  Robbie fleetingly wondered what he had expected.  
  
“I know what you told me you were here for.  And you said your piece, and delivered your… returned my late wife’s property.  So why are you still here, and why did you make false accusations against Sergeant Hathaway and myself?  And why now?”  Robbie deliberately left out the bribery allegations; Innocent had that under control and wanted it kept completely separate from whatever happened during this interview.  Robbie had gone to considerable lengths to convince her that, although it wasn’t standard procedure, and he was well aware that nothing he learned could ever be recorded or presented as evidence, he was certain this was the only way he would get the whole story from Harris – and he needed to know.  Innocent had agreed to allow him one hour, on condition he didn’t jeopardise the bribery charge, and that she was an independent witness.  
  
Harris stared at them, his eyes darting agitatedly from Robbie, to James, to the constable, and back to Robbie.  
  
Robbie was aware of the passing of time.  He wasn’t going to give Harris the satisfaction of drawing out the story at his pace.  
  
“Your Aunt Hazel was a gold mine of information.  Your father must have done something dreadful for her to turn against him like she did.”  That got the reaction Robbie was looking for.  
  
“She’s a lying cow, and you’re more gullible than you look if you believed anything she said.”  
  
“So tell us your side, then – it’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?  I found your aunt quite plausible.”  
  
Harris slammed his hand against the table.  “That barren bitch doesn’t know what she’s talking about – she never understood,” he shouted.  “All my dad ever wanted was Valerie – and everyone and everything got in his way.  Especially you.”  
  
Robbie saw the signs that the floodgates had been opened.  All he, James – and Innocent – had to do now was ride out the wave.  
  
“Her parents were wrong.  They should have made Valerie marry my dad.  I had a right to be raised by my biological parents. First they took that away, and then you came along and stole her from my father. You had no right. She was my mother – MINE!  My dad wrote to me regularly from the time I could read, he always promised me that one day we'd be a proper family – him, me, and Valerie.  My Aunt Meg promised me that as well.   That one day you’d be gone, and Valerie would return to my dad, and everything could be how it was meant to be.”  
  
“But you had a home, with parents who wanted you...” Robbie began.  
  
“They were my aunt and uncle,” Harris said scornfully.  “They would have given me back in an instant if Valerie had married Dad, especially my uncle.  Reunite a family – that was the plan all along, you see.  They'd look after me until Valerie was old enough to marry Dad without her parents' permission.  Once that was done, I would have been adopted back into the family I really belonged to.”  
  
Harris sat back and gripped the edge of the table.  Robbie leant heavily on the table in an attempt to thwart Harris if he tried to flip it.  
  
“My uncle never wanted children, but my aunt and grandparents convinced him it would only be for a few years, until my dad and Valerie were married.  My aunt wanted to do whatever she could to help my dad.  Then you...”  He stared at Robbie with unconcealed hatred.  
  
Robbie studied him carefully – he had seen this too many times to count; like so many who’d sat in this room before him, now that Harris had started talking, he wouldn’t stop until he’d run out of words or exhausted his anger.  
  
“When Dad was released in 1978, he went to see Valerie’s Aunt Cissy up in Wolvercote – it was the only address he had.  All she would tell him was that Valerie had married someone else and was ‘getting on with her life and he should leave her alone’.  He was furious that someone could have manipulated Valerie like that, taking her away from him.  He begged Cissy for an address; he knew if he could talk to her, before she did something stupid like have another baby and trap herself in the wrong marriage, he would be able to make  her see sense.  The stubborn bitch wouldn’t budge, and threatened to have him arrested if he didn’t leave.   All he wanted was to be able to talk to his Valerie, get her to see sense. But for all he knew she could have been in Birmingham, or Canada or Australia.  He never stopped looking, though, and he eventually discovered that her parents were back in Oxford.  He followed them around for months, hoping to find a clue.  He even tried breaking in to see if he could find a letter, anything with an address – he would have gone anywhere for her – but a neighbour saw him and chased him.  Daft old bugger tripped and Dad got away.  He wrote everything down in long letters to Aunt Meg – that’s how I know all this.  He wanted Aunt Meg to keep every letter for me – in case something happened to him – and I read and re-read them as I grew up.  I wanted to know everything about her and what happened; I wanted to be ready for when we were a proper family.”  
  
Harris’s eyes were distant as he stared at a point over Robbie’s head.  With a sharp shake of his head, he focussed back on Robbie.   
  
“When my uncle found out I wasn’t going to be leaving them any time soon, he was furious. He threatened to dump me back with my grandparents, until my grandfather pointed out that I'd been legally adopted, and if he did dump me there'd be a whole range of charges they could bring to bear.  I wish he had dumped me.  I think he emigrated and dragged us along to spite them. He was a cruel man; he regularly hit me and my aunt for the least little thing, but never where it showed. We ended up in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere because they needed a doctor, and we never left.  My aunt wrote faithfully every week, whether she had a letter from my dad or not, but I don’t think she ever said how bad it was.”  
  
“Dad needed to find out what he could about Valerie, where she was what she was doing, so he convinced Aunt Meg to write to her Aunt Cissy.  He said she might be more open to another woman, especially the one raising her great-nephew.  Aunt Meg would occasionally include a letter addressed directly to Valerie.  The letters never came back, but there was no way of knowing if she read them or simply threw them away.  Dad never had to remind Aunt Meg to write; she knew the sooner I was back where I belonged, the sooner the beatings would stop.”  
  
James started to ask a question, stopping when Robbie pressed his knee against him.  Harris glared at James.   
  
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking; why didn’t she report him?  She did.  But doctors are too valuable in a small outback town – no-one was going to risk losing that precious commodity.  She was ignored, or worse, told if it was such a problem she should just leave – where the hell was she going to go?  She didn’t have any money of her own and she didn’t drive, which is a huge hurdle when you’re 500 kilometres from the nearest commercial airport, and you know no-one locally will help you for fear of losing ‘the Doc’.”  
  
James mumbled an apology, which seemed to mollify Harris.  He returned to Robbie, and his ‘saga’.  
  
“We couldn’t believe it when a letter arrived from Valerie in 1984; Aunt Cissy had finally forwarded on one of the letters to Valerie and encouraged her to write.  We knew that because Valerie mentioned it in that first letter.”  
  
Harris closed his eyes.  _“She wouldn’t tell me why she thought it was important, but I trust Aunt Cissy, and if she felt it would be a good thing to do, I wasn’t going to argue.”_    Robbie could only assume he was quoting from the letter and wondered how often he’d read them.   
  
“Aunt Meg sent a copy of the letter to Dad – she did that with every letter that Valerie sent; her unpaid role as office manager for my uncle had its benefits.  My dad’s replies were filed away with the letters, and Aunt Meg kept everything safely locked away where my uncle wouldn’t find them.  That first letter sent Dad into quite a rage.  It wasn’t enough that you’d married her – you’d also trapped her with _two_ children.  Dad wasn’t sure what he would do about them.”  
  
James’s elbow pushed into Robbie’s side as he bent forward suddenly, coming  to rest his forearms on his knees, his head low so that he was peering up at Harris.  Robbie knew it wasn’t an accident, and was thankful for James’s distraction: no-one threatened his kids, but Robbie couldn’t afford to react and risk even the slightest chance that Harris falling silent.  He thought he was beginning to understand Harris’s motivation, but he didn’t know why Harris was here _now_ , or where Collins was.  
  
Harris smirked again, and his eyes drifted lazily across their faces.  Robbie was afraid he was going to stop speaking anyway.  He held back a sigh of relief when Harris sat back in his chair and continued.  _Another who loves the sound of his own voice – thank God._  
  
“Then Valerie wrote around the middle of 1985 to say she’d moved back to Oxford – that you’d been transferred – there hadn’t been a hint of it in any of the earlier letters.  Aunt Meg knew Dad would have to be told as quickly as possible.  She was afraid he might rush things if he saw her and assumed you were out of the picture.  She couldn’t phone him – it would have shown up on the bill and Uncle George would have punished her and me; he had no real idea how often she wrote, but a phone call was a different matter.”  
  
He laughed, a sharp, slightly manic sound.  “You would have thought he’d do anything to help them get back together, just so he could get rid of me, wouldn’t you?  But, no, he was psycho.  He’d decided he wanted to keep me around for sport and to torment my dad.  He’d already told me he wouldn’t allow me to leave the country, even when Dad and Valerie were back together.  I was ‘his property to do with as he saw fit’ until I was eighteen.  Bastard!” Harris spat.  “Do you know he had me committed twice?  Both times he’d beaten my aunt and blamed it on me, but he convinced his mate, the local sergeant, that I needed ‘help’ not incarceration – a sick ‘son’ was one thing, but a vicious criminal, no, that would never do – so I was shipped off to the nearest secure psychiatric hospital.  I think the only difference between the two is that I was never raped in hospital.  Not like my dad.”  
  
He blinked and shook his head violently.  “But you don’t want to know about me.  Long story short, the letter arrived too late.  Oh, he’d played things safe, kept his distance, trying to pick a time to talk to her.  But then he saw the two of you together, and he knew who you were because of the way you kissed her – you had no right to kiss her, to touch her.  If he could have safely wiped you out of the picture then he would have.  And then the letter arrived.  He wrote that when he read it, he realised he couldn’t be angry at her, she was under your control as much as I was under my uncle’s – but he was furious at you, and when he saw that woman that night, something just... snapped.  If he hadn’t been angry at you, it would never have happened; it’s entirely your fault he attacked her.  And then you arrested him.  And you had no idea who he was.  Dad would have laughed if he wasn’t facing another sentence.”  
  
Robbie couldn’t believe what he was hearing; a quick look at James showed him he wasn’t alone.  He held up a hand to stop Harris.  “There’s something I don’t quite understand here.  If he knew who I was when I arrested him, and he was so hell-bent on getting me to leave V–  Mrs Lewis, why didn't he say something to me then?”  
  
Harris looked curiously surprised by the question.  “Well, that’s completely straightforward – any fool can figure that out.  You had to find out for yourself by seeing Aunt Meg’s letters. Then you'd ask Valerie if it was true and, like most women when confronted, she'd crumple and admit it, and there would be tears, and begging for forgiveness, and you would be the one who’d hurt her, not dad.  However, if he told you who he was, you wouldn't believe him – you’d assume he was just trying to wind you up, but you'd ask Valerie anyway, and there’d still be tears, blah, blah, blah, but she’d want to know how you found out, and you’d tell her, and then it would be Dad's fault.  And Dad never wanted to hurt Valerie.  But you never saw the letters, not even when I started writing to her as well; you couldn’t have, because you never left Valerie, and it was evident from her letters that all was well.  Dad was locked away, and you continued on with your ignorant life.  Dad was raped and beaten in prison.  And you played happy families.  It was wrong.  If you didn’t exist, things would have been so different for him and for me.  As I got older I just wanted to come home.  Nothing I did was ever good enough for my uncle.  I should have had a different life, a better life. But you wouldn't get out of the way to make it possible.  Even when I was eighteen and free to leave, I couldn’t.  Dad was in prison, and his mum didn’t want me around if he wasn’t there as well.  Jobs were pretty scarce; I worked as a jackeroo for a bit, then as a cook at the roadhouse.  I never had enough to get out of town, and my uncle refused to loan me the money to leave.  Eventually, Dad wrote to say he’d be getting released, and that Gran would send me the money for the flight to England just as soon as he was settled back in.”  He looked at Robbie with a grin.  “He wanted me to be there when he tore your precious world apart.”  The grin disappeared.  “Then Aunt Hazel wrote to say he’d attacked Gran within weeks of getting out of prison, and was back inside again.  So I had to wait.”  
  
Robbie had heard a lot of twisted personal histories in his years as a police officer, but had never suspected that one so warped and deluded would ever involve anyone he knew.  Harris seemed to be flagging; Robbie needed him to get to the end.  
  
Harris had slumped forward in the chair.  His voice was partly muffled as he continued.  
  
“Dad fell ill when he went back inside.  He was diagnosed HIV positive.  When you had him locked away, the filthy bastards he was put in with wouldn’t keep their hands off him, and those that could help turned a blind eye.  You wanted to know where he is now.  He’s in a hospice, waiting to die, and that’s your fault too.  _Dear Auntie Hazel_ wouldn’t have told you that – Aunt Meg and I were the only ones who knew, the only ones who cared.”  Harris raised his head slowly, with hatred in his eyes.  “Then Valerie was dead, and it was your fault: the well-respected Detective Inspector couldn't keep his wife safe when she went shopping.  It was Dad who sent the clipping to us, by the way.  Any hope Dad had left had been completely stripped away; we’d never be a family.  I decided there and then that one day I’d complete what my dad hadn’t been able to.  You fucked up my life, and my dad's life.  Why shouldn't we fuck up yours?”  
  
Robbie drew comfort and strength from James’s presence, and he hoped James wasn’t being affected by any of Harris’s ‘confession’.  James kept his past very close to his chest, but Robbie had worked out some aspects.  He was certain James’s childhood had been far from happy; James had told him of his father’s bullying, and he strongly suspected further abuse of some form had also played a large part in his life.  Robbie fervently hoped that nothing in Harris’s past was familiar to James, and was now regretting that he wasn’t able to shield James from hearing Harris’s narrative.  He could only trust that he would be able to read James well enough to know if there was going to be any fall-out from it all.  But, when all was said and done, Robbie knew that, even if he had been able to predict what Harris was going to tell them, it would have been impossible for him to keep James away from his side.  
  
“But why wait ten years?” Robbie asked.  “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”  
  
“With Valerie gone, the only concrete proof was in the letters she’d sent to me and Aunt Meg.  Until I could get them here, you could have simply dismissed Dad as a crackpot.  He wanted to make sure you understood all the hurt and distress you’d caused to our family, to make certain you knew that, if only you’d left Valerie alone, everything would have been fine.  We would have been a family. He would never have been in prison.  He wouldn’t be dying horribly now.  He wanted me to set his affairs in order, and that’s why I’m here; you were at the top of his list.  I was to confront you with the truth, convince you to take the letters, and wait and watch for the fall out.  Only if your world’s in shreds can he die with any sense of things having been put right.  But you’re not even going to give him that, are you?”  Harris’s despair was in his eyes and the hunching of his shoulders.  
  
“But that still doesn’t explain why you waited ten years,” James jumped in.  
  
“I’m not talking to you!” Harris shouted, half-rising from his chair.  
  
“Then bloody well tell me,” growled Robbie.  “Because it makes no damned sense at all.”  
  
“The will,” Harris snarled through clenched teeth, as he dropped back into his chair with a crack.  “My fucking uncle’s will, with all its conditions, and my aunt’s stupid, stupid fit of conscience and sentiment.”  
  
Robbie frowned at James, who shook his head and shrugged.  They both stared at Harris and waited.  
  
Harris sighed heavily, and lowered his head onto his folded arms.  Robbie rubbed his face, frustrated that Harris appeared to have said all he was going to, and tried not to be angry with James for interrupting.  He was ready to leave the room when Harris lifted his head, cradling his forehead in one palm.  
  
“Oh, what the hell,” Harris mumbled, his face downcast.   “When Aunt Meg heard about Valerie’s death, she mailed the letters and photos – everything she had – to the bank my uncle used, requesting it be placed in his locked box, alongside all their other papers.  She didn’t tell me until after it was done.  With Valerie gone she couldn’t understand Dad’s continuing obsession, but she thought _my_ grandchildren – Dear God!”  He laughed bitterly.  “She really believed I might actually want a child, and that they or their brats would want to know about Valerie.  My uncle died shortly after in February – snakebite; couldn’t think of a more fitting end for him, really.  His will came as a shock – he left a fortune; there was an allowance for Aunt Meg, to be paid monthly for as long as she lived, and the rest was to come to me on her death, but only on the condition I stayed with Aunt Meg, and we both stayed in the town.  If we didn’t, everything was to go to charity.  I begged Aunt Meg to recover the envelope from the bank so I could mail it to Dad, and she refused.  If I thought I could have got away with it, I would have killed her then.”  
  
He shoved himself away from the table, the sharpness of his movement causing Robbie and James to jump, bringing a self-satisfied smirk to his face.  
  
“In the end Dad said to wait. Only by waiting until Aunt Meg died was I going to get the envelope, and taking my uncle’s money was the only way I could screw him over.  Then I could use that to come here and screw you over on dad’s behalf, which I did... tried to do...”  He blinked at Robbie.  “Why the hell aren’t you a mess?  You’re supposed to be shattered!” he screamed, as he launched himself across the table, hands reaching for Robbie’s throat.  Robbie threw himself backwards, toppling off his chair, as James and the constable went for Harris from opposite sides.  Robbie heard the scuffling and swearing as he picked himself up. When he looked, James was using the constable’s handcuffs to secure Harris.  
  
Robbie turned at the sound of the door opening.   
  
Innocent stepped into the room and approached him, placing her hand against his arm.  “I think that’s enough, Robbie, don’t you?” she said gently.  
  
Harris, now firmly seated with James pressing down on his shoulder, looked up and groaned.  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, not you again?”  
  
All heads turned as the door opened once more; Innocent acknowledged the new arrival and turned back to Harris.  “Relax, Mr Harris, my business is with Inspector Lewis.  However, I’d like to introduce you to Detective Inspector Grainger.  He’d like to talk to you about your visit to the station last week; the constable you spoke to has been very enlightening.”   
  
Harris moaned softly and lowered his head onto the table.


	15. Friday - afternoon and evening

 

Innocent watched Robbie and James as they sat opposite her, side by side on the small visitors’ couch in her office.  Neither had said a word since leaving the interview room, other than to thank her PA for the tea she’d requested, yet she sensed an entire unspoken conversation had taken place in the minutes that had passed. She’d observed them both closely during the unconventional interview, noting how Robbie had calmed at James’s touch, and how James had pressed himself back in his chair at Harris’s accusations.  Nor had she missed the other physical cues.  She trusted them when they said there was nothing inappropriate in their relationship, certainly nothing that would require her to take any official action, but sometimes she wondered what was hiding just below the surface.  
  
Robbie was solid and kind – and completely heterosexual; of that, Innocent was in no doubt.  James was... James.  There were no girlfriends to speak of – she’d never taken his liaison with Fiona McKendrick seriously – nor boyfriends, and there had never been enough speculation about James to sustain an office rumour for more than a few days, even during the Phoenix case.  However, no-one who knew Robbie and James could deny that they had a unique relationship, and she almost hoped something would happen between them – they both deserved a little happiness.  James had bloomed – if that was the right word – under Robbie’s guidance, and Robbie had gradually shaken off his melancholy as his friendship with James had grown.  If she wasn’t certain one or both would shrivel with embarrassment, she would have suggested an encounter group again.  _They’re both adults, they’ll figure it out eventually...  I hope.  As long as they’re discreet when they do..._  
  
Robbie carefully placed his cup on the saucer and looked up at her.  “Ma’am, I want to thank you again for allowing me – us – to get the...  to find out what Harris’s game was.  I’m sorry for the way he spoke about you, I...”  
  
Innocent held up a hand, and shook her head briskly.  “Robbie, please don’t apologise for that piece of...  I’ve been called worse – to my face.  The question is, are you all right?  Do you need some extra time off?  Did you want to talk to someone?”  
  
The scowl on Robbie’s face made it clear that he hadn’t changed his opinion of counsellors; however, she felt quite strongly, that in this instance, he should at least consider it.  She was about to insist when she caught the way he and James looked at each other.  _Oh.  My.  God.  James hasn’t simply helped him investigate Harris – he really has been there_ every _single step of the way.  Have they...?  No.  Surely not.  But, if he takes hold of James’s hand, I..._ Innocent took a steadying breath.  
  
“I’m sure you know what’s best for yourself, Robbie, but do remember, the services are there if you need them.  You, too, James.”  
  
“Ma’am?”  James looked up with puzzled frown.  She met his eyes.  
  
“When we become deeply... invested in a friend’s... situation, it can have an impact on us we don’t always notice at first.  Just because this wasn’t your battle – though Harris had a good crack at you, too – doesn’t mean you might not suffer some fall-out from it.”  
  
James held her gaze.  “Understood, Ma’am; I’ll be vigilant.”  
  
“Ma’am?”  Robbie sat back against the cushion.  “If we’re not needed, could we take an extra week’s leave?  I’ve still some things to sort out with our Lyn, and she’s asked for James to come up as well.”  
  
James was watching her expectantly; as far as she could tell, he hadn’t even glanced towards Robbie.  Innocent wondered if she’d missed a gesture when she blinked at the ‘we’.  Had there been another silent conversation, or was this simply an understanding? If it was the latter, it presumed a great deal if Robbie could confidently, almost casually, direct James to not only take leave with him, but to go to his daughter’s.  
  
She nodded briskly, and fleetingly wondered if she’d taken too long to respond.  “Grainger may have some questions for you, but I’m sure they could either be dealt with by phone or wait until you return.  I’ll notify the relevant people, and you can submit your forms when you’re back in the office.”  
  
“Thank you, Ma’am.”  Robbie rose to leave, and James followed.  
  
Innocent stopped them before they reached the door.  “Robbie?  You still haven’t told me how you found him.  Grainger _will_ need that detail in his report – no-one’s going to believe Harris came in of his own accord, nor that he was picked up by chance.”  Though she addressed Robbie, she watched James, remembering his expression when she’d found him in the office the previous morning; James was poker-faced.  
  
Robbie tugged at his ear.  “Harris provided an address to return the letters to if I didn’t want them.  Said it was a ‘friend’, Ma’am; there was nothing to indicate he’d be at that address himself.”  
  
“So you’d gone there to return them?”  
  
“Not exactly, Ma’am.”  Robbie glanced sideways at James, who appeared to be examining the carpet intently.  “We were curious about this ‘friend’?” he offered eventually.  
  
Innocent bit her lip.  It wasn’t the most satisfactory answer, but digging any deeper was only going to raise more questions – unnecessary ones, she felt.  They had Harris on the bribery allegation, and he had come to the station voluntarily – the lack of restraints was proof enough of that for anyone.  She decided to let it go.  Unless Harris chose to put up a heavy defence, how he was located seemed inconsequential, and unlikely to affect the outcome of the case.  _Besides,_ Innocent thought _, Robbie hasn’t said_ when _Harris gave him the address._   For all she knew, it was included with the letters he’d given Robbie.   
  
She dismissed them with a nod, staring curiously as James guided Robbie out of the door, his hand hovering over the small of Robbie’s back.

 

***

 

Robbie and James stepped into the viewing room to watch the end of Harris’s interview.  
  
“Whatever the outcome of Grainger’s investigation, I think it’s a safe bet to say that Harris will be spending some time in a cell,” Robbie observed.  “And Collins will be left to die... unavenged, maybe alone if he’s as sick as Harris has implied.  Harris is going to have to live with that.”  
  
James was scowling silently.  
  
Robbie was puzzled.  “D’you think I’m being too harsh?”  
  
“Eh?  What?  No. No, not at all.  I, er,..  Why would someone go to such lengths for someone they’d never met, never spoken to?”  James’s frown deepened.  “It’s so... extreme.”  
  
“Oh, they met, James; I have no doubt about that.”  
  
James spun around, baffled.  “When?  Collins was...”  Robbie laid his hand against James’s upper arm.  
  
“If we accept that his father, aunt and grandparents were all determined to see him settled with Collins and Val, then it goes without saying that he probably spent a lot of time with his father in those early years – when Collins wasn’t in prison.  Harris was six when they left England – old enough to have a memory of Collins – and a child’s early memories are a strange thing, James.  My mam died when Lyn was six; she has clear, vivid memories of the last Christmas they saw each other, but doesn’t remember anything about her illness, how it affected her temper and her moods.  My memories of me mam are bittersweet because I remember it all; Lyn just remembers the sweet.  With the physical distance between them, nothing Collins did would have tainted Harris’s childhood memories.  And, we only have Harris’s word they never met or spoke after that.  I’d bet good money that, if you dug hard enough, you’d find a record of phone calls, possibly even a visit to England, despite what he said about his uncle.  Something had to keep feeding his obsession, something more than the letters he says he got from his father.”  
  
James stared at Harris, who was staring sullenly at Grainger.  “Do you think he still has those letters, and the ones from Val to his aunt?”  
  
“If he has, I doubt we’ll ever see them.”  Robbie’s hand drifted down James’s arm, falling away before it reached James’s wrist.  He stuffed his hands into his pockets.   
  
They watched in silence as Harris, still in handcuffs, was helped to his feet.  
  
“Even so.” James pondered.  “It was a lot of effort and energy for an uncertain outcome – for both of them.”  
  
“Collins envisaged a life he believed was better than the one he had, and Harris was told all his life it was also the one he was meant to have.  Then it was taken away from them – more than once.”  He studied James.   ”Haven’t you ever wanted something so badly, you’d do anything to get it, or stop someone else from having it?”  
  
“Perhaps,” James murmured.  He took a deep breath, stretched to his full height, and nodded towards the now-empty interview room.  “No point hanging around here.”   
  
Robbie opened the door and let James out ahead of him.  He followed him up the hallway, and wondered what he was thinking about.

 

***

 

James held out his hand as they walked through the doors, out into the car park.  Robbie placed his keys in James’s palm before he realised what he was doing.  He paused for a moment, watching James stride ahead, and marvelled once again at the ease with which they understood each other.  Robbie wondered how differently the day would have panned out had there been anyone else with him, realising, with a start, that there wouldn’t have been anyone else.  When Harris’s letter had turned up on his desk, he’d never once considered _not_ telling James, so implicit was his trust. The last person – the only other person – to have that place in his life had been Val. 

 

***

 

James led the way to Robbie's flat, unlocking the door and going in ahead, walking directly to the kitchen.  Robbie found him digging around a cupboard, muttering to himself.  
  
"Ha!  I knew I'd seen some in here," James exclaimed, placing a container on the worktop.  
  
"Cocoa?"  Robbie frowned in puzzlement as James pulled out the smallest saucepan he owned, before heading toward the fridge.  
  
James looked at him with a small, uncertain smile.  “My mother always made it for me when... when something had left me out of sorts.  And she always made it this way, well, in a milkpan – this’ll do, though.  It was almost a ritual; we’d sit on the couch together and drink quietly.  I still find it comforting.  I thought...”  
  
Robbie smiled fondly, and nodded.  “I’ll wait on the couch, then, yeah?”  
  
James gave him a small, pleased smile and turned back to the pot.

 

***

 

When James brought the mugs to the couch, Robbie had drawn the curtains and put a lamp on.  James settled himself into the corner next to Robbie, and an easy silence settled around them.  
  
Robbie sighed loudly, partly from the comfort of the James's company and the cocoa, partly from weariness; the day had caught up with him, but he felt there was still more to do.  He rolled his head to one side to talk to James, and was startled when a long, cup-warmed finger pressed against his lips.  
  
"Cocoa first, talk later," James murmured, his eyes kind but firm.   
  
Robbie relaxed into the couch as well as he could – he had to admit he missed the way he could sink into the old one – and brought his mug to his lips. Robbie couldn't remember the last time he'd had cocoa – he couldn't even remember buying it.  _Probably our Lyn, last time she was down._   The smell reminded him of winter evenings with Val, when the kids were young and they'd all share a drink before bedtime. He sipped carefully, remembering scalded lips in the past, and found that James had the temperature just right.  Robbie felt certain that was the result of experience, not luck, and wondered how many times James had sat by himself, drinking cocoa and remembering the quiet reassurance of his mother's presence.

 

***

 

James gently took the mug from Robbie's fingers.  Robbie had been so lost in his thoughts that he startled, nearly jerking the mug from James’s hands.  James pressed a calming hand on Robbie’s knee as he pushed himself up, taking the mugs to the kitchen.  Monty landed lightly on the couch, curling up on the still-warm cushion.  Robbie scratched Monty under his chin, and his purrs competed with the sound of running water as James washed up; the clink of mugs on the draining board were followed by James’s returning footfalls.  
  
James toed off his shoes at the side of the couch and, after scooping up Monty, sat back down.  He put his stockinged feet up on the coffee table, and let Monty settle on his lap before turning his face to Robbie's.  
  
Robbie was struck again by the age and wisdom in James's eyes; it was always there, though James often tried to conceal it, but sometimes, as in this moment, he bared all.  It was one of the reasons Robbie could be open with James, and reveal parts of himself that no-one else would ever know.  One day he hoped James would be able to open up to him, too.  
  
"I feel like I was a blind fool," Robbie began.  "I can't believe I never saw the true extent of Val’s mother’s control.  Lyn did.  She was ready to stand up to her grandmother.  I knew she liked to be in charge, liked hearing the sound of her own voice – she always had a bloody opinion on everything."  He groaned softly.  "The kids always said they wanted me around more, but Val… once we'd moved here, she took it in her stride – at least, I thought she did.  Maybe if I had been around a bit more, I might have seen something, learnt the truth."  
  
"Could you have been home more?” James asked quietly.  “Was it possible?”  
  
"No, I suppose not."  Robbie sighed.  "But I must have been half asleep when I was there not to see or suspect Val was hiding something.  How did I not know?"  
  
James sat forward, placing his feet and Monty on the floor, and resting his elbows on his knees.  "This may sound simplistic, but Val never wanted you to find out.  With her mind set on that path – and no doubt bolstered by her mother's threats and admonitions – there was no possible way you were ever going to discover the truth from her.  If Collins hadn't been as obsessed and delusional as he was, if Harris hadn't been as bloody-minded as he was, you would _never_ have found out about this.  Lyn would never have told you, it really would have 'gone to the grave’.”  
  
“It’s not right, James,” Robbie groaned sadly.  “This ‘secret’ has shattered or damaged so many lives – Harris and Collins, Val, Lyn, maybe even Mark; if you hadn’t been around, I don’t know where I’d be right now.  So many bloody ‘what-ifs’, and all of them a waste of time.  Secrets and lies, James; they can be worse than bullets.”  
  
James kept his head lowered.  Robbie couldn’t see his eyes, or his expression.  When James spoke, his voice was almost fearful.  “We can’t always be honest, no matter how much we might... trust someone.  What happened to Val, to you, that was unfair and cruel; but sometimes it _might_ be better if someone chose to live with an unspoken truth, than bare their... bare all and risk being crushed, or seeing others hurt.  No matter how much we might be encouraged to hope and dream, we have to live in reality, and sometimes our secrets, whether they’re a part of our past or a dream for the future, should remain just that.”  
  
Robbie turned James’s words over, looking for what James hadn’t said.  He didn’t want to keep silent any longer – he was sick of secrets – but he didn’t want to wound James, either.  He pushed down the giant butterflies that threatened to make his whole body tremble.  Sitting forward on the couch, he turned and faced James, pressing their knees together.  After a moment’s hesitation, he laid his hand on James’s shoulder and gently squeezed.  James glanced up and away again, and Robbie felt a small, brief tremor.  
  
Robbie licked his lips, a slightly futile exercise as his mouth was bone-dry, and took a deep breath.  “If I’m going to take anything away from all that’s happened these past couple of weeks, it’s that, even if only one other person knows – or guesses – a secret, then there’s no guarantee it won’t eventually be revealed, and that even the best kept secret won't always remain hidden, and, perhaps, sometimes, it shouldn't.”  
  
He squeezed James’s shoulder again and, this time, James looked up and held his gaze.  Robbie remained motionless as James’s eyes studied him intently.   When James neither looked nor moved away, Robbie swallowed hard once and plunged forward.  
  
“You really can tell me anything, James.   I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to understand and find some way to let you know how important you are to me, and I know I’m not doing it very well.  I want you to know that I...  I know – think I know – what ‘secret’ you’re talking about.”   
  
Robbie concentrated on keeping his breathing steady as he watched the shifting emotions on James’s face. He could only imagine the turmoil in James’s mind at that moment, but whatever was going to happen next had to be on James’s terms.  When all was said and done, his ‘secret’ – how he really felt about Robbie, what he really wanted – was his to keep or reveal, and if he chose to stay silent, then so be it.  It wouldn’t change the way Robbie felt about him now, but Robbie hoped that, by letting James make the call, they could still move forward as friends, at the very least.  He recalled that James had once said to him, ‘if you go, I go,’ and Robbie knew with searing clarity that he would go wherever and whenever James went too.  
  
James drew his bottom lip in between his teeth, and a calmness filled his eyes.  He dropped his gaze to where Robbie’s other hand rested against his leg and, hesitantly reaching across, took Robbie’s hand between his own, drew it across to his lap, and held it there.  Robbie released James’s shoulder, and lightly cupped James’s cheek.  With a soft exhale, James leant into his touch, raising his eyes to meet Robbie’s once again.  The trust that Robbie had hoped to see was there.  
  
Slipping a hand behind his neck, Robbie slowly drew James towards him and kissed him softly on the forehead.  He rested his brow against James’s and let his hand slip back to James’s shoulder.   
  
James sat perfectly still, breathing slowly and steadily, his eyes closed.  Robbie waited, his other hand warm where it rested between James’s.  With a tiny shudder, James sat back slightly.  His eyes drifted over Robbie’s face once more, and he leant in, slowly and carefully, and kissed him.   
  
It was only the lightest brush of lips, barely a caress, yet it threatened to take Robbie’s breath away.  As James began to draw back, Robbie followed him, capturing his lips again as his fingers glided around the nape of James’s neck.  Half-expecting James to pull away, Robbie couldn’t hold back a smile when James returned the kiss.   
  
James’s lips were as soft and warm as Robbie had imagined, as they shared a myriad of soft, small kisses.  James brushed one hand against Robbie’s cheek and neck, while the other lightly held Robbie’s shirt.  Robbie’s freed hand now rested against James’s waist.  Robbie bit his lip as James slowly opened his eyes and sat back, trembling.   
  
“Was that...?” Robbie stammered.  “Are you okay?”  
  
James nodded, and gave him a smile that was pure joy before leaning in and kissing him again, just once more.  
  
Robbie gazed fondly at James, who seemed to have grown younger and taller in the past few minutes.  “So, what happens now?  This is, ah, not new, but certainly a bit different to... what I know.”  
  
“It’s not exactly familiar territory for me, either.”  James smiled shyly.  
  
“Wait, you’ve never...?“  Robbie frowned, a little unsure.  
  
James shrugged.  “A bit.  Not a lot.  But I can learn.  I’m a quick learner.  And a good teacher.”  He smiled cheekily.  
  
Relieved, Robbie laughed softly.  “Just remember my brain’s not as big as yours; you’ll have to use short words and practical demonstrations.”  
  
James backed away slightly, looking flushed and a little uncertain.  
  
Robbie was puzzled.  “What did I say?”   
  
“Sex,” James mumbled.  “You’re talking about sex.”  
  
It was Robbie’s turn to blush.  “I, ah... not exactly... maybe...  I mean, if that’s what you wanted, I’d...” he stammered.  
  
James shook his head.  “It’s not...  I, um...  it’s not really... um, no.”   
  
“Oh, okay.  Robbie breathed a sigh of relief.  “I didn’t think it... I wasn’t sure what you’d...”  Robbie laughed nervously, and James visibly relaxed.  “One step a time, then, eh?  _Would_ you like to do anything?”  
  
James chewed on his bottom lip.  “There is one thing... something I nearly did do in Manchester.”  Curious, Robbie nodded at him to continue.  “You were so lost and angry, that I wanted to hold you until you fell asleep, to... keep the demons away, so you could sleep all night.  Does that sound... silly?”  
  
“Not at all,”  Robbie murmured fondly.  
  
  
  
Robbie got ready for bed as James cleaned up in the kitchen, putting away the last of the dishes and cleaning down the worktop.  Although they’d missed dinner, neither felt hungry.  Robbie wanted nothing more than to sleep long and deep now that the puzzle of Harris had been laid to rest, reassured that neither he nor his father would be giving him any further grief.  While Robbie saw to Monty, who was hungry and unimpressed at missing his dinner, James washed and changed.  As Robbie turned out the last of the lights, he jumped as James’s hand slipped into his.  Wordlessly, James led Robbie to bed.   
  
Robbie exhaled contentedly, and relaxed into James’s embrace.  He lay on his side, with his head on James’s shoulder and tucked into James’s side.  It was a little strange at first; even though it had been many years since he’d cuddled anyone in bed – he didn’t count the night after meeting Harris – he was more familiar with being in James’s position, but he had to admit there was something... nice... about being cared for.  As he started to drift off, he thought back to their meeting with Innocent, where Harris had accused them of having an intimate relationship.  Wickedly, he wondered how she would have reacted if he’d answered her with, “No, we’re not, Ma’am, but I’m hopeful.”


	16. Epilogue

 

James rose early and carefully unwrapped himself from Robbie.  Tucking the duvet around Robbie’s back to keep out any draught, James lightly stroked his hair, still in awe that Robbie had opened up his heart and life to him so completely.  His only regret had been that it had taken someone as dysfunctional as Harris to be the catalyst – until Robbie had explained why he’d bought the couch, and James had realised that they would have arrived at this point in their lives with or without Harris.  The small doubt he’d carried that, one day, Robbie would ‘recover’ from Harris’s attack and no longer need him, vanished completely as Robbie’s words had settled in his mind.  The thorough kissing Robbie had followed up his confession with had been rather persuasive, too.  
  
For James, much of the past week had been a blur of finding his feet in the unfamiliar territory of being loved and wanted and needed, simply for being himself.  With Robbie, he’d found a sense of family, something he hadn’t known for more years than he cared to think about.  At times, he’d felt a little overwhelmed, terrified that somehow he would fail an unseen, unwritten test, but Robbie had sensed those moments, and had been there with his quiet reassurance.  Now, when James closed his eyes, instead of a dark haze, he saw a future filled with purpose, love, and Robbie.  
  
James moved quietly towards the kitchen, taking care to avoid Monty, whom he’d discovered had a habit of flopping to the ground right where James was going to step.  It was barely six, but James now knew that Robbie wouldn’t stay in bed too much longer anyway, so he might as well start making breakfast.  _First things first, though_ , thought James, as he pulled on his coat and boots over his pyjamas, and crept outside for a cigarette.  He hadn’t quite kicked the habit, but he had cut down considerably; now that he had a real incentive to stop, and the desire to do so, he was confident it was only a matter of time.

 

 

*****

 

 

Robbie's vision drifted into focus as he slowly woke up.  The coolness at his back told him James was up and about and, as he couldn't hear the shower, he presumed James was either in the kitchen or had gone outside for his morning cigarette.  Robbie was proud of the way James had cut down his smoking; he’d deliberately not made any request of James, or discussed his smoking in any way, fully aware that if James was to successfully stop, the decision had to come from within himself.  A noise drew Robbie’s attention.  It sounded like James was raking through the cutlery drawer, or perhaps he'd left a drawer open and it was Monty – it wouldn't be the first time.  From somewhere outside the bedroom, Monty meowed impatiently; whatever James was doing, he hadn’t filled his bowl.   
  
Robbie dropped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Since Harris’s arrest, Robbie, with James’s help, had pulled all the pieces of Harris’s twisted tale into as coherent a narrative as possible.  Crimes of passion, triggered by love betrayed or lost or misguided, were nothing new to either of them, but Robbie had never expected to be the intended victim.  He kept reminding himself that he was fortunate that neither Harris nor Collins had ever reached the point where they had murder on their mind.  However, he was shockingly aware that Harris’s concerted efforts to finish what his father had started, and destroy him emotionally, may very well have succeeded if it wasn’t for James.   
  
He sighed, and gave himself a shake.  They were due back at work the next day.  Harris was now Grainger’s problem, and Innocent had arranged for Robbie and James to be placed at the bottom of the rotation, giving them, possibly, at least a week before they were called out.  
  
He’d be glad to get back to work.  Much of the past week had been occupied with setting things to rights but, while Robbie had one item left on his mental ‘to-do’ list – which they were attending to that afternoon – the past couple of days had been lazy days.  Although they had been a welcome respite, and an opportunity to wind down, they’d given Robbie a glimpse into the potential boredom of retirement – even with James beside him.  He and James had discussed the aimlessness, and it was agreed that Robbie would contact Mr Cooper and put his name back on the waiting list for an allotment.  Given the current rate of allocation, they probably had another three to four years of working together before one became available; that would be the trigger for Robbie to officially retire.  James would decide his future direction when that time came.   
  
Robbie had tried to raise the issue of promotion with James, and James had cut him off with a shake of the head.   
  
“Where’s the point?  When you leave, I’ll be following, and if I were to go for promotion now, we wouldn’t be working together; we’d be on different rotations and barely see each other.  That doesn’t suit me.  Can you honestly tell me you would be happy with that?”  
  
“Innocent’s going to be on at you.  I’m fairly certain she has an office and several potential bagmen lined up already.”  
  
“Then I’ll have to find a way to let her down gently, won’t I?”  
  
And that had been the end of that discussion.  
  
The reality of James being a more intimate part of his life, and he of James’s, still left him in awe, but it hadn’t been completely smooth sailing.  Robbie chuckled to himself; James wouldn’t be James if he didn’t over-think everything.  The morning after they’d first kissed, Robbie had woken before dawn to an empty bed.  He’d found James sitting on the couch nursing a cup of tea.   
  
“It’s cold, man.  What are you doing out here?  Come back to bed.”  When James had looked at him, Robbie had been shocked to see he looked miserable.  Robbie had sat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.  
  
“What’s wrong?  Has something happened?  I didn’t hear the phone.”  
  
James had shaken his head and mumbled, “I’m afraid I’ll be a disappointment to you.”  
  
“A disapp–   What on earth are you talking about?”  
  
James had bitten his lip, and refused to look at Robbie, who had had to lean in close to hear him properly.  “I’m not the most physically demonstrative of people.  Last night, with you – kissing, holding you, lying with you – that’s about as far as I normally want to go.  Sex...  I can do it, I’m not a virgin, it’s just...  I don’t see the point.  If I need to... If I need a physical release, I can take care of that myself.  But you’re used to...”  
  
Robbie had known immediately he had to stop James, before he tied himself in knots.  
  
“James, pet, forget the past – yours and mine.  Let’s just focus on the now.  You won’t disappoint me – on the contrary.”  He’d given James a moment to think over his words.  “I’m not past it, but I’m not in me prime, either.   I’m not interested in shagging someone; if that was something I really wanted in a relationship, I might have considered pursuing Laura a bit more seriously.  I want to be with someone who understands me, someone who isn’t going to get upset if I sit next to them all night and don’t say a word.  Someone I can communicate with without opening me mouth, and someone who isn’t afraid to tell me when I’m talking complete shite.  Now, if that comes with hugs, or cuddles, or kisses, well, hell, that’s an unexpected and very nice bonus, and I won’t knock it back.  But it’s something extra, it’s not essential.”  
  
James’s expression had shown he wasn’t completely convinced.  “But what about your... needs.  You were married a long time and...”  
  
“James.”  Robbie had pulled him close, and pressed his forehead against the side of James’s head.  “I've managed fine these past years on me own.  Like you, I was able to... ‘take care of myself’ if I needed to.  I think I'll manage to do so in future, too.  But I don’t want to talk to myself until the end of my days – loneliness is soul-destroying.  I’d like to have someone else around, and I’d really like that person to be you.”  
  
James had blushed and smiled sheepishly.  “I’d like that, too.”  He’d taken hold of Robbie’s other hand, and begun to gently massage it, stopping when a shiver had run through his body.   
  
“You’re chilled, James.”  Robbie had stood up, pulling James to his feet.  “Come back to bed – before Monty hogs the middle.”  
  
As the days progressed, now that his love for Robbie was no longer a secret, and his feelings were not just welcome but reciprocated, James had started to let his guard down when they were behind the closed doors of the flat.  He touched or hugged Robbie at every opportunity, yet Robbie would never have described him as ‘clingy’, nor did he ever feel overwhelmed by the closeness.  _Perhaps_ , Robbie had considered, _it’s because I need the contact as much as him._  
  
In bed, James had ousted Monty from his preferred spot, curled up at the back of Robbie’s knees.  At some point during the night James would move so that he was lying behind Robbie, his thighs tucked in under Robbie’s, and an arm draped over his waist.  It was different to when James had held him as he fell asleep; this was far more intimate, in Robbie’s mind, at least.  The first night it happened, Robbie had frozen in place, afraid that if he moved he would wake James.  By the third night Robbie had relaxed, and now, when he felt James’s arm wrap around him, he wriggled back until he felt either James’s chest against his back or the warmth of his breath against his neck.  Compared to this tenderness and affection, Robbie felt that sex was horribly over-rated.  
  
  
With James at his side, he’d returned to Lyn’s as promised, and explained the whole sordid story.  Lyn had felt a flicker of compassion for the child who could have been her brother, but no sympathy for the man who had tried to injure her father.  They’d agreed to say nothing to Mark.  If he had found out about it, on or around the time Lyn had, then, like Lyn, he probably assumed it was now buried in the past; it was best for all if it was left there.   
  
Robbie and James had planned to remain quiet about the development in their relationship, but Lyn had beaten them to it.  James had taken their bags up to the room after they arrived.  As he came down the stairs, he asked Lyn where the folding bed was.  
  
“I’m happy to set it up, if you’ll tell me where it is.”  
  
Lyn had blinked, and looked startled.  “Oh, has something happened since you were here?  It’s... I know you didn’t use it last time, James, so I thought...”  
  
James had stared open-mouthed, and Robbie had spluttered, “How did you...?”  
  
“The first morning...  I saw Thom sneaking in to wake you up.  He was halfway into the room when I got to him, and... it was light enough that I could see James wasn’t in the folding bed, and it hadn’t been slept in, and if he wasn’t there...”  
  
“Oh, Lyn, love... I,” Robbie had stammered.  “It’s not what you’re thinking, honestly.  James and I, we, ah...”  
  
Robbie had taken Lyn by the hand, sat down on the couch with her, and quietly explained, while James perched on the edge of the lounge chair, his knees bouncing nervously.  Lyn had listened carefully, occasionally looking away from her dad to glance at James.  She was quiet for a long moment after Robbie had finished speaking.  
  
“So, you’re comfort and company for each other?”  Her eyes had darted from one to the other, her face calm.  
  
“It’s a wee bit more than that, love, but basically, yes.”  
  
“And Mum?  Where does Mum fit in to all of this?”  Robbie had been grateful that she sounded curious, not upset or angry.  His next thought had been that she didn’t seem at all bothered by him being with James.  
  
“I’ll always love your mum, love, you know that, James knows that.”  James had nodded in agreement.  “But she wouldn’t have wanted me to stay lonely – not if there was a chance at being happy again.”  
  
“No, she wouldn’t have, and I can see James makes you happy.”  She’d smiled fondly at both of them.  “Welcome to the family, James.”  
  
  
The sizzle of bacon frying reached Robbie’s ears, and the aroma wafted in shortly after; he’d get up in a few minutes.  Monty was silent, so presumably James had fed him.  Robbie rolled onto his other side, and placed his hand in the small depression still visible in James’s pillow.  James had been to his flat once since Harris was arrested – the day after they’d returned from Lyn’s.  He’d tidied up, cleaned out his fridge, and collected his clothes and a few other items.  He’d also called his landlord that same afternoon to give notice on his flat.   
  
It had been more of a foregone conclusion than a discussion.  A few days after Harris had been charged, as they’d begun to settle into new routines, James had set up his laptop and spread assorted papers across the dining table, as he began to formally document Harris’s ‘vendetta’.  Robbie had made tea, and struggled to find a place to set James’s cup down.  
  
“This really won’t work, will it, James?”  
   
James’s head had shot up, his eyes startled and questioning.  “What won’t work?” he’d asked cautiously.  
  
“This flat.  It’s too small for the two of us, really; it’s impractical.”  His eyes had scanned over the various papers.  “It’d be nice to a have decent space to work together, especially if we want to spread out like this and stay spread out, we’re going to be lucky if we can squeeze two lots of clothes into the one wardrobe, and if Lyn wants to visit, there’s nowhere for her and Tim to sleep – you and I both won’t fit on the couch.  Even Monty looks crowded out.”  
  
“So, you’re thinking, a place with, say, three bedrooms,” James had stated slowly.  “Semi-detached, I presume, not a flat?”  
  
“A wee garden might be nice.  Somewhere to have a drink on a warm summer’s evening, and a safe place for Thom to play, don’t you think?”   
  
James had nodded, a smile breaking slowly across his face.  “And houses can work out cheaper than flats – in the right area.  It could take a little while to find the right place, though; I could start looking around the agents’ sites now, if you like?”  
  
Robbie had grinned, delighted that, without hesitation, James had embraced the idea of making their new lifestyle a more permanent arrangement.  “Yeah, you might as well make a start now, before we’re trapped back at work an’ short on time.  In the meanwhile, I think I can put up with being in close-quarters, if you can.  Be a chance to save a bit, as well.”  
  
James had looked at Monty thoughtfully.  “I can’t have pets at my flat, and this one’s better located, anyway.”  
  
And that was that.  
  
The following weekend, case-load permitting, Robbie was going to help James pack and move the rest of his belongings.  As James didn’t have any furniture to worry about, they weren’t going to be as cramped as Robbie had initially thought; and though it would be tight, it was looking like it would be a short-term situation.  James had already located several suitable properties, which would become available in the following couple of months, and it was now a matter of arranging viewings.  They still had the small matter of explaining everything to Innocent.  They would need her on-side if they were to successfully argue that they be permitted to continue to work together as a team.  Robbie couldn’t’ve explained why, not even to James, but he was quietly confident that there wouldn’t be any major issues.  
  
  
Robbie had made no contact whatsoever with Val’s remaining family.  It wasn’t a hardship; they hadn’t spoken since the funeral, and Robbie hadn’t been able to see what good would come from raking up the past, anyway.

 

***

 

The ground was sodden as Robbie crouched in front of Val’s headstone that afternoon, but he paid little attention; it could have been snowing for all he cared.  James stood behind him, with one hand resting lightly on his shoulder.   
  
It had been nearly three weeks since Harris’s letter arrived on Robbie’s desk.  Initially angered and in disbelief, Robbie had come to understand Val’s reluctance and fear and had forgiven her, thanks to James’s bravery in baring more of himself than he had ever done before.  When he thought how close he’d come to losing Lyn because of that anger he shuddered, and he felt James move closer, having misinterpreted his shiver, sheltering him from the cold wind.  James had been a voice of reason, and a voice he could trust.   When he’d told James why he’d wanted to come here today, James had quietly accepted his need to talk to Val, to set things straight.  
  
Robbie spoke softly as he set the flowers he’d brought in the vase.  “I loved you the best I could, pet.  I'm sorry it wasn't enough to still your fears about what had happened, an’ about your mam.  I feel like a fool for not seeing her control of you for what it really was.  I wish I had, love – I'd've done anythin’ to make things right for you, but I know I can’t change the past, and it’s pointless to dwell on it.  I’ve had to let go of so many ‘what-ifs’ because I’m sure they’d have driven me mad.  James – you'd've loved James – he understood what you must have been going through, an’ he's helped give me an understanding of what you might have felt.  He's been a rock for me, love.  Whatever you feared might’ve happen if I found out, you can put your mind at rest; James’d never let me do anything rash.”  
  
His fingers brushed over the lettering, tracing her name.  
  
“I still miss you, pet, a part of me always will, but, thanks to James, it’s getting easier.  I know you wouldn’t have wanted me to live in the past, that you’d want me to be happy.  That it was James came as a surprise to me, too – s’why I took so bloody long to see it, I suppose.  But we’re here now, an’ you don’t have to worry about me being lonely.  Lyn thinks I’m doing the right thing, though she’s got no real idea how much cheek James gives me.  I’m sorry you an’ James never had a chance to meet.  You really would’ve loved him, pet.  I hope you understand.”  
  
Robbie stood slowly, and James’s hand cradled his elbow to balance him.  As the shadows crept across the ground, a strong arm slipped around Robbie’s shoulders, drawing him close.  
  
“Time to go?” James whispered in his ear.  
  
Robbie nodded, and James led him towards the gate, and home.

 

~~~~~o0o~~~~~

 

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt was:  
>  _Val had a child out of wedlock who turns up looking for her birthmother. Perhaps Val was raped or maybe just young and silly? Maybe she was ashamed to tell Robbie. Robbie deals with it and James supports. Are Lyn and Mark OK with it?_


End file.
